HIDDEN   GOLD 


At  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle,  Moran  stopped  short. 


HIDDEN  GOLD 


BY 

WILDER  ANTHONY 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

G.  W.  GAGE 


NEW  YORK 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1922, 
BY  THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP  ...  n 

II  A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  ...  23 

III  JEALOUSY 35 

IV  THE  GATHERING  STORM    ....  44 
V     TREACHERY 57 

VI     MURDER 73 

VII     THE  OLD  TRAIL 84 

VIII  HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW      .     .  93 

IX  THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  RANCH  .      .     .  106 

X  THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY  .     .     .     .  114 

XI    TANGLED  THREADS 129 

XII     DESPERATE  MEASURES 144 

XIII  INTO  THE  DEPTHS 156 

XIV  A  DASTARD'S  BLOW       ......  171 

XV    THE  FIRST  CLEW 181 

XVI     TRAPPED 200 

XVII    A  WAR  OF  WITS 212 

XVIII  A  RESCUE,  AND  A  VIGILANCE  COM- 
MITTEE         234 

XIX  BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS     .  250 

XX  THE  STORM  BURSTS     .....  262 

XXI  WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST  .      .      .  272 

XXII  CHURCH  GOING  CLOTHES  .     ,.,    w    c.  283 


2125491 


HIDDEN   GOLD 


HIDDEN  GOLD 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   COMING   OF   THE   SHEEP 

FROM  his  seat  on  the  top  of  a  high  ridge,  Gordon 
Wade  looked  into  the  bowl-shaped  valley  beneath 
him,  with  an  expression  of  amazement  on  his  sun- 
burned face.  Pouring  through  a  narrow  opening  in 
the  environing  hills,  and  immediately  spreading  fan- 
like  over  the  grass  of  the  valley,  were  sheep;  hun- 
dreds, thousands  of  them.  Even  where  he  sat,  a  good 
quarter  mile  above  them,  the  air  was  rank  with  the 
peculiar  smell  of  the  animals  he  detested,  and  their 
ceaseless  "Ba-a-a,  ba-a-a,  ba-a-a,"  sounded  like  the 
roar  of  surf  on  a  distant  coast.  Driven  frantic  by 
the  appetizing  smell  of  the  sweet  bunch-grass,  the 
like  of  which  they  had  not  seen  in  months,  the  sheep 
poured  through  the  gap  like  a  torrent  of  dirty,  yel- 
low water;  urged  on  from  the  rear  and  sides  by  bark- 
ing dogs  and  shouting  herders. 

Straightening  his  six  feet  of  bone  and  muscle,  the 
cattleman  stood  up  and  stepped  to  the  extreme  edge 
of  the  rim-rock,  with  hardened  countenance  and 
gleaming  eyes.  A  herder  saw  him  standing  there,  in 
open  silhouette  against  the  sky  line,  and  with  many 
wild  gesticulations  pointed  him  out  to  his  companions. 

ii 


12  HIDDEN  GOLD 

With  a  quick  motion,  Wade  half  raised  his  rifle  from 
the  crook  of  his  arm  toward  his  shoulder,  and  then 
snorted  grimly  as  the  herders  scrambled  for  shelter. 
"Coyotes!"  he  muttered,  reflecting  that  constant  as- 
sociation with  the  beasts  that  such  men  tended,  seemed 
to  make  cowards  of  them  all. 

With  an  ominous  shake  of  his  head,  he  went  back 
on  the  ridge  to  his  waiting  horse,  eager  to  bear  word 
of  the  invasion  to  Santry,  his  ranch  foreman  and 
closest  friend.  Thrusting  the  short-barreled  rifle  into 
its  scabbard  beneath  the  stirrup  leather,  he  mounted 
and  rode  rapidly  away. 

Dusk  was  gathering  as  he  pushed  his  way  through 
the  willows  which  fringed  Piah  Creek  and  came  out 
into  the  clearing  which  held  his  ranch  buildings. 
Nestling  against  the  foot  of  a  high  bluff  with  the  clear 
waters  of  the  creek  sparkling  a  scant  fifty  yards  from 
the  door,  the  log  ranch  house  remained  hidden  until 
one  was  almost  upon  it.  To  the  left,  at  the  foot  of 
a  long  slope,  the  corrals  and  out-buildings  were  situ- 
ated, while  beyond  them  a  range  of  snow-capped 
mountains  rose  in  majestic  grandeur.  Back  of  the 
house,  at  the  top  of  the  bluff,  a  broad  tableland  ex- 
tended for  miles;  this,  with  Crawling  Water  Valley, 
comprising  the  fine  range  land,  on  which  fattened 
three  thousand  head  of  cattle,  carrying  the  Wade 
brand,  the  Double  Arrow.  Barely  an  hour  before, 
the  owner  had  surveyed  the  scene  with  more  than 
satisfaction,  exulting  in  the  promise  of  prosperity  it 
seemed  to  convey.  Now  all  his  business  future  was 
threatened  by  the  coming  of  the  sheep. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP          13 

After  putting  his  horse  in  the  corral,  the  ranch 
owner  turned  toward  the  house.  As  he  walked  slowly 
up  the  hill,  he  made  a  fine  figure  of  a  man;  tall, 
straight,  and  bronzed  like  an  Indian.  His  counte- 
nance in  repose  was  frank  and  cheerful,  and  he 
walked  with  the  free,  swinging  stride  of  an  out-door 
man  in  full  enjoyment  of  bodily  health  and  vigor. 
Entering  the  cabin  by  the  open  door,  he  passed 
through  to  the  rear  where  a  rattling  of  pots  and  pans 
and  an  appetizing  smell  of  frying  bacon  told  that 
supper  was  in  progress. 

Bill  Santry  was  standing  by  the  stove,  turning  the 
bacon  in  its  sizzling  grease,  with  a  knack  which  told 
of  much  experience  in  camp  cookery.  The  face  which 
the  lean  and  grizzled  plainsman  turned  toward  his 
friend  was  seamed  by  a  thousand  tiny  wrinkles  in 
the  leathery  skin,  the  result  of  years  of  exposure  to 
all  kinds  of  weather. 

'"Hello,  Gordon !"  he  exclaimed.  His  pale  blue  eyes 
showed  like  pin  points  under  the  shaggy,  gray  brows. 
"You're  back  early,  just  in  time  for  me  to  remark 
that  if  we  don't  get  a  pot-wrastler  for  this  here  outfit 
pretty  durn  quick,  the  boys'll  be  cookin'  their  own 
chuck.  I'm  blamed  if  I'll  herd  this  stove  much 
longer." 

Wade  smiled  as  he  passed  into  the  adjoining  room 
to  remove  his  spurs  and  chaps.  "There's  a  Chinese 
coming  up  from  town  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

Santry  peered  across  the  stove  to  watch  him  as  he 
moved  about  his  room.  The  week  before,  a  large 
picture  of  an  extremely  beautiful  girl,  which  she  had 


14  HIDDEN  GOLD 

sent  to  Wade  and  which  at  first  he  had  seemed  to 
consider  his  most  precious  ornament,  had  fallen  face 
downward  on  the  table.  Santry  was  curious  to  see 
how  long  it  would  be  before  Wade  would  set  it  up 
again,  and  he  chuckled  to  himself  when  he  saw  that 
no  move  was  made  to  do  so.  Wade  had  presented 
Santry  to  the  girl  some  months  before,  when  the  two 
men  were  on  a  cattle-selling  trip  to  Chicago,  and  the 
old  plainsman  had  not  cared  for  her,  although  he  had 
recognized  her  beauty  and  knew  that  she  was  wealthy 
in  her  own  right,  and  moreover  was  the  only  child 
of  a  famous  United  States  Senator. 

"There's  thunder  to  pay  over  in  the  valley,  Bill." 
Wade  had  produced  "makings,"  and  rolled  himself  a 
cigarette  as  he  watched  the  foreman  cooking.  "Sheep 
— thousands  of  them — are  coming  in." 

"What?"  Santry  straightened  up  with  a  jerk  which 
nearly  capsized  the  frying  pan.  "Sheep?  On  our 
range?  You  ain't  kiddin'  me?" 

"Nope.  Wish  I  was,  but  it's  a  fact.  The  sheep 
are  feeding  on  the  grass  that  we  hoped  to  save  against 
the  winter.  It's  the  Jensen  outfit,  I  could  make  that 
out  from  where  I  stood." 

"Hell !"  Stamping  angrily  across  the  floor,  Santry 
gazed  out  into  the  twilight.  "That  dirty,  low-lived 
Swede?  But  we'll  fix  him,  boy.  I  know  his  breed, 
the  skunk!  I'll  .  .  ."  The  veins  in  the  old  plains- 
man's throat  stood  out  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  con- 
tracted. "I'll  run  his  blamed  outfit  out  of  the  valley 
before  noon  termorrer.  I'll  make  Jensen  wish  .  .  ." 

"Steady,  Bill!"  Wade  interposed,  before  the  other 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP  15 

could  voice  the  threat.  "Violence  may  come  later  on 
perhaps;  but  right  now  we  must  try  to  avoid  a  fight." 

"But  by  the  great  horned  toad  ...    !" 

Santry  stretched  out  his  powerful  hands  and  slowly 
clenched  his  fingers.  He  was  thinking  of  the  pleasure 
it  would  give  him  to  fasten  them  on  Jensen. 

"The  thing  puzzles  me,"  Wade  went  on,  flecking 
his  cigarette  through  the  window.  "Jensen  would 
never  dare  to  come  in  here  on  his  own  initiative.  He 
knows  that  we  cowmen  have  controlled  this  valley  for 
years,  and  he's  no  fighter.  There's  lots  of  good  grass 
on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  and  he  knows  that 
as  well  as  we  do.  Why  does  he  take  chances,  then, 
on  losing  his  stock,  and  maybe  some  of  his  herders 
by  butting  in  here?" 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  Santry  immediately 
agreed,  as  though  the  thought  were  his  own.  "An- 
swer me  that!  By  the  great  horned  toad!  If  I  had 
my  way  .  .  ." 

"This  country  isn't  what  it  was  ten  years  ago,  Bill. 
We're  supposed  to  have  courts  here  now,  you  know." 
Santry  sighed  heavily.  "To-morrow,"  Wade  con- 
tinued, "I'll  ride  over  and  have  a  talk  with  whoever's 
in  charge  of  the  outfit.  Maybe  I  can  learn  some- 
thing. You  stay  here  and  keep  Kelly  and  the  rest 
quiet  if  they  get  wind  of  what's  going  on  and  seem 
inclined  to  show  fight.  I've  been,  in  a  way,  looking 
for  trouble  ever  since  we  refused  to  let  that  fellow, 
Moran,  get  a  foothold  in  the  valley.  If  he's  back  of 
this,  we've  got  a  clever  man  to  fight." 

"There's  another  hombre  I'd  like  awful  well  to  get 


16  HIDDEN  GOLD 

my  hands  on  to,"  declared  Santry  belligerently. 
"Damned  oily,  greedy  land  shark!  All  right,  all 
right!  Needn't  say  nothin',  Don.  You're  the  brains 
of  this  here  outfit,  an'  'thout  you  say  the  word,  I'll 
behave.  But  when  the  time  comes  and  you  want  a 
fightin'  man,  just  let  me  at  him !  When  you  want  to 
run  some  of  these  here  crooks  outer  the  country,  you 
whisper  quiet  like  to  old  Bill  Santry.  Until  then,  I'll 
wait.  That  is — "  He  waved  a  warning  finger  at 
Wade. — "That  is,  up  to  a  certain  point!  We  don't 
want  war,  that  is  to  say,  to  want  it,  you  understand 
me!  But  by  the  great  horned  toad,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
let  no  lousy,  empty  headed,  stinkin',  sheep-herdin* 
Swede  wipe  his  feet  on  me.  No,  siree,  not  by  no 
means !" 

Wade  made  no  reply  to  this,  and  with  a  further 
admonitory  shake  of  his  grizzled  head,  the  old  man 
resumed  his  cooking. 

"You're  sure  that  Chink'll  be  over  in  the  mornin'  ?" 
he  asked  anxiously,  after  a  little;  and  Wade  nodded 
abstractedly.  "Cookin'  ain't  no  job  for  a  white  man 
in  this  weather.  Breakin'  rock  in  Hell  would  be 
plumb  cool  alongside  of  it."  He  wiped  the  sweat  from 
his  forehead  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "Say,  do 
you  remember  them  biscuits  you  made  over  in  the 
Painted  Rock  country?  The  batch  I  et  ain't  digisted 
yet. 

"Every  time  I  cook  a  meal,"  he  went  on,  chuckling, 
"I  think  about  the  time  Flour  Sack  Jim  hired  out  to 
wrastle  grub  for  that  Englishman.  Flour  Sack  was 
one  of  your  real  old  timers,  rough  and  ready,  with  a 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP  17 

heart  as  big  as  a  bucket,  but  he  wouldn't  bend  his 
knee  to  no  man  livin'.  The  English  jasper  was  all 
kinds  of  a  swell,  with  money  enough  to  burn  a  wet 
dog.  For  family  reasons,  he'd  bought  him  a  ranch 
and  started  to  raise  hosses.  He  wore  one  of  these 
here  two-peaked  hats,  with  a  bow  on  top,  and  he 
always  had  an  eyeglass  screwed  into  one  eye. 

"The  first  night  after  Flour  Sack  come  on  his 
job,  he  got  up  a  mess  of  jack-rabbit  stew,  and  stickin' 
his  head  out  the  door,  yelled  in  real  round-up  style — 
'Come  and  git  it!'  Then  he  piled  up  his  own  plate 
and  started  in  ter  eat.  In  about  ten  minutes,  in  walks 
the  English  dude,  and  when  he  seen  the  cook  eatin' 
away,  he  rares  back  and  says,  haughty-like — 'Bless 
me  soul,  I  cawn't  eat  with  me  servants,  doncher 
know.'  Flour  Sack  never  bats  an  eye,  but  says,  with 
his  mouth  full  'Take  a  cheer,'  he  says,  'an'  wait  unth 
I  git  through/  " 

Although  Wade  had  heard  the  story  before,  he 
laughed  pleasantly  as  Santry  began  to  dish  up  the 
food;  then  the  latter  summoned  the  hired  men. 

"Mind,  now,  Bill,"  Wade  admonished.  "Not  a 
word  about  the  sheep." 

The  next  morning,  after  a  restless  night,  the  young 
rancher  set  out  alone  for  the  sheep  camp.  He  was 
more  than  ever  concerned  over  the  outlook,  because 
sleep  had  brought  to  his  pillow  visions  of  cattle  starv- 
ing on  a  denuded  range,  and  of  Santry  and  Race 
Moran  engaged  in  a  death  struggle.  Particularly  be- 
cause of  the  danger  of  this,  he  had  insisted  upon 
Santry  staying  at  home.  The  old  plainsman,  scarred 


i8  HIDDEN  GOLD 

veteran  of  many  a  frontier  brawl,  was  too  quick 
tempered  and  too  proficient  with  his  six-shooter  to 
take  back-talk  from  the  despised  sheep  herders  or  to 
bandy  words  with  a  man  he  feared  and  hated.  Wade 
was  becoming  convinced  that  Moran  was  responsible 
for  the  invasion  of  the  range,  although  still  at  a  loss 
for  his  reasons.  The  whole  affair  was  marked  with 
Moran's  handiwork  and  the  silent  swiftness  of  his 
methods. 

This  Race  Moran  was  a  stranger  who  had  come  to 
Crawling  Water  some  months  before,  and  for  reasons 
best  known  to  himself,  had  been  trying  to  ingratiate 
himself  in  the  neighborhood,  but,  although  he  seemed 
to  have  plenty  of  funds,  the  ranch  and  stock  men  did 
not  take  kindly  to  his  advances.  He  posed  as  the 
agent  of  some  Eastern  capitalists,  and  he  had  opened 
an  office  which  for  sumptuous  appointments  had 
never  been  equaled  in  that  part  of  the  country;  but 
he  had  not  been  able  to  buy  or  lease  land  at  the 
prices  he  offered  and  his  business  apparently  had  not 
prospered.  Then  sheep  had  begun  to  appear  in  great 
flocks  in  various  parts  of  the  surrounding  country  and 
some  of  these  flocks  to  overflow  into  Crawling  Water 
Valley.  Moran  denied,  at  first,  that  they  had  come 
at  his  instance,  but  later  on,  he  tacitly  admitted  to 
the  protesting  cattle  men  that  he  had  a  certain  amount 
of  interest  in  sheep  raising. 

More  far-sighted  than  some  of  his  neighbors,  Wade 
had  leased  a  large  strip  of  land  in  the  valley  for  use 
as  winter  range.  Moran  had  seemed  to  want  this 
land  badly,  and  had  offered  a  really  fair  price  for  it, 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP          19- 

but  Wade  had  not  cared  to  sell.  Relying  upon  his 
privilege  as  lessee,  Wade  had  not  feared  the  approach 
of  the  sheep,  and  he  had  no  reason  to  wish  to  dispose 
of  his  holdings.  Now,  it  began  to  look  as  if  the  pur- 
pose was  to  "sheep"  him  out  of  his  own  territory,  so 
that  the  agent  might  buy  up  the  lease  and  homestead 
rights  on  practically  his  own  terms.  The  thing  had 
been  done  before  in  various  parts  of  the  cattle 
country. 

Cattle  and  sheep  cannot  live  on  the  same  range,  and 
when  sheep  take  possession  of  a  country,  cattle  must 
move  out  of  it,  or  starve.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the 
cattlemen  of  Crawling  Water  Valley  were  aroused. 
Their  livelihood  was  slipping  away  from  them,  day 
by  day,  for  unless  prompt  steps  were  taken  the  grass 
would  be  ruined  by  the  woolly  plague. 

Thus  far,  Gordon  Wade,  a  leader  in  the  cattle  fac- 
tion, had  been  firm  for  peaceful  measures  though 
some  of  the  ranchers  had  threatened  an  open  war  on 
the  herders.  "Avoid  bloodshed  at  almost  any  cost," 
had  been  his  advice,  and  he  had  done  his  best  to  re- 
strain the  more  hot-headed  members  of  his  party, 
who  were  for  shooting  the  sheep  and  driving  out  the 
herders  at  the  rifle  point.  But  there  was  a  limit,  even 
to  Wade's  patience:  and  his  jaws  squared  grimly  as 
he  considered  the  probable  result,  should  Moran  and 
his  followers,  the  sheep  owners,  persist  in  their  pres- 
ent course  of  action. 

It  was  still  very  early  in  the  morning  when  Wade 
arrived  at  the  herder's  camp.  Oscar  Jensen,  a  short, 
thick-set  man,  with  an  unwholesome,  heavy  face,. 


20  HIDDEN  GOLD 

stepped  out  of  the  little  tent  as  the  rancher  rode  up. 

"MorninV 

"Good-morning!"  The  cattleman  affected  a  cheer- 
fulness which  he  did  not  feel.  "Are  these  your  sheep, 
Mr.  Jensen?"  He  waved  in  the  direction  of  the  graz- 
ing band,  a  dirty  white  patch  on  the  green  of  the 
valley. 

"Yes." 

"Perhaps  you  don't  know  that  you  are  on  Double 
Arrow  land?  I've  ridden  over  to  ask  you  to  move 
your  sheep.  They're  spoiling  our  grass." 

Jensen  grinned  sardonically,  for  he  had  been  ex- 
pecting Wade's  visit  and  was  prepared  for  it. 

"I  got  a  right  here,"  he  said.  "There's  plenty  good 
grass  here  and  I  take  my  sheep  where  they  get  fat. 
This  is  government  land." 

"It  is  government  land,"  Wade  quietly  acknowl- 
edged, "but  you  have  no  right  on  it.  I  control  this 
range,  I've  paid  for  it,  and  unless  you  move  within 
the  next  twelve  hours  you'll  be  arrested  for  trespass." 

The  sheepman's  sullen  face  darkened  with  anger. 

"Who'll  do  it?  The  sheriff  won't,  and  I'm  not 
afeerd  of  you  cattle  men.  My  sheep  must  eat  as  well 
as  your  cattle,  and  I  got  a  good  right  here.  I  won't 
move." 

"Then  remember  that  I  warned  you  if  you  get  into 
trouble,  Jensen.  There's  plenty  of  open  range  and 
good  water  on  the  other  side  of  the  hills.  I  advise 
you  to  trail  your  sheep  there  before  it  is  too  late. 
Don't  think  that  Race  Moran  can  save  you  from  the 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  SHEEP          21 

law.  Moran  is  not  running  this  valley,  and  don't 
you  forget  it." 

"How  do  you  know  Moran's  backin'  me?"  The 
Swede  could  not  conceal  his  surprise.  "You  can't 
bluff  me,  Wade.  I  know  my  rights,  and  I'm  goin' 
to  stick  to  'em." 

"The  devil  you  say!"  Now  that  he  was  sure  of 
Moran's  complicity  in  the  matter,  Wade  felt  himself 
becoming  angry,  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to  keep  cool. 
"You'd  best  listen  to  reason  and  pull  out  while  you're 
able  to  travel.  There  are  men  in  this  valley  who 
won't  waste  time  in  talk  when  they  know  you're 
here." 

"Bah!"  Jensen  snorted  contemptuously.  "I  can 
take  care  of  myself.  I  know  what  I'm  doin',  I  tell 
you." 

"You  may,  but  you  don't  act  like  it,"  was  Wade's 
parting  remark,  as  he  turned  his  horse  and  rode  off. 

"Go  to  hell !"  the  Swede  shouted  after  him. 

Heading  toward  Crawling  Water,  the  ranch  owner 
rode  rapidly  over  the  sun-baked  ground,  too  full  of 
rage  to  take  notice  of  anything  except  his  own  help- 
lessness. The  sting  of  Jensen's  impudence  lay  in 
Wade's  realization  that  to  enlist  the  aid  of  the  sheriff 
against  the  sheep  man  would  be  very  difficult,  if  not 
altogether  impossible.  There  was  very  little  law  in 
that  region,  and  what  little  there  was  seemed,  some- 
how, to  have  been  taken  under  the  direction  of  Race 
Moran. 

It  was  now  broad  day  and  the  prairie  warmed  to 


22  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  blazing  sun.  Long,  rolling  stretches  of  grass, 
topped  with  rocks  and  alkaline  sand,  gave  back  a 
blinding  glare  like  the  reflection  of  a  summer  sea, 
from  which  arose  a  haze  of  gray  dust  like  ocean  mists 
over  distant  reaches.  Far  to  the  South,  a  lone  butte 
lifted  its  corrugated  front  in  forbidding  majesty. 

Beyond  the  summit  of  the  butte  was  a  greenish- 
brown  plateau  of  sage-brush  and  bunch-grass.  Be- 
hind this  mesa,  a  range  of  snow-topped  mountains  cut 
the  horizon  with  their  white  peaks,  and  in  their  deep 
and  gloomy  canyons  lurked  great  shadows  of  cool, 
rich  green.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  there  was 
no  sign  of  life  save  Wade  and  his  mount. 

The  horse's  feet  kicked  up  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust 
that  hung  in  the  air  like  smoke  from  a  battery  of 
cannon.  It  enveloped  the  ranchman,  who  rode  with 
the  loose  seat  and  straight  back  of  his  kind;  it  came 
to  lie  deeply  on  his  shoulders  and  on  his  broad- 
brimmed  Stetson  hat,  and  in  the  wrinkles  of  the 
leather  chaps  that  encased  his  legs.  He  looked 
steadily  ahead,  from  under  reddened  eyelids,  over  the 
trackless  plain  that  encompassed  him.  At  a  pace 
which  would  speedily  cover  the  twenty  odd  miles  to 
Crawling  Water,  he  rode  on  his  way  to  see  Race 
Moran. 

Two  hours  later  Oscar  Jensen  was  shot  from  behind 
as  he  was  walking  alone,  a  little  distance  from  his 
camp.  He  fell  dead  and  his  assassin  disappeared  with- 
out being  seen. 


CHAPTER  II 

A    MEETING   AND   A    PARTING 

HAD  some  one  of  Gordon  Wade's  multitude  of 
admirers  in  the  East  seen  him  as  he  stood  looking 
out  over  his  Wyoming  ranch,  he  might  have  recog- 
nized the  true  cowboy  composure  with  which  the 
ranchman  faced  the  coming  storm,  but  he  would  not 
have  recognized  the  stripling  who  had  won  scholastic 
and  athletic  honors  at  Princeton  a  few  short  years 
before,  and  who  had  spent  a  year  after  graduating 
in  aimless  travel  and  reckless  adventure. 

After  flitting  rapidly  and  at  random  almost  all  over 
the  habitable  globe,  he  had  returned  to  his  home  in 
New  York  with  some  thought  of  settling  down  there, 
but  the  old  family  mansion  was  empty  excepting  for 
the  servants,  and  his  sense  of  loneliness  and  sorrow 
for  the  loved  ones  who  were  no  longer  there  to  greet 
him,  drove  him  on  speedily  and  he  turned  toward  the 
West  to  explore  his  own  country  last  of  all,  as  so 
many  other  travelers  do. 

Attracted  by  the  surpassing  beauty  of  the  country, 
he  had  lingered  in  Wyoming  long  enough  to  feel 
fascination  of  the  ranch  life  that  was  then  to  be 
found  in  all  its  perfection  in  the  wilder  part  of  that 
State,  and  realizing  that  he  had  found  the  precise  lo- 
cation and  vocation  that  suited  him,  he  had  converted 

23 


24  HIDDEN  GOLD 

his  modest  fortune  into  cash,  and  invested  all  in  the 
Double  Arrow  Ranch. 

But  on  his  way  thither,  he  had  stopped  in  Chicago, 
and  there  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  Romance. 

Before  he  had  gone  a  dozen  steps  after  getting  off 
the  train,  some  one  dealt  him  a  mighty  blow  between 
the  shoulders,  that  well  nigh  sent  him  spinning.  Be- 
fore he  could  recover  himself,  he  was  caught  from 
behind  and  hurled  headlong  into  a  taxicab. 

"I've  heard  of  Western  hospitality  before,"  he  said, 
calmly,  before  he  could  see  who  his  assailant  was, 
"but  you  seem  to  be  hard  up  for  guests." 

"No,"  said  his  college  chum,  George  Stout,  grin- 
ning happily  as  he  clambered  into  the  taxi,  "but  I 
wasn't  taking  chances ;  somebody  else  might  have  seen 
you  first." 

Followed  three  feverish  days  and  nights;  then  as 
they  sat  in  pajamas  in  Stout's  apartment,  Wade  said : 
"I  don't  imagine  there  is  anything  more  to  see  or  do 
in  this  hectic  city  of  yours,  and  I  am  free  to  say  I 
don't  like  it;  I  think  I'll  move  on." 

"Not  yet,"  said  Stout,  with  the  grin  that  endeared 
him  to  everybody  that  ever  met  him.  "You've  only 
seen  the  outside  edges  so  far.  To-night  you  are  going 
to  break  into  society." 

"Do  they  have  society  here?"  asked  Wade. 

"Well,  they  call  it  that,"  still  grinning,  "anyhow 
you'll  be  interested,  not  to  say  amused.  The  game  is 
new  as  yet,  but  they  go  through  the  motions,  and 
Oh,  boy,  how  lavish  they  are!  You'll  see  everything 
money  can  buy  this  evening,  and  probably  meet  peo- 


A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  25 

pie  you  wouldn't  be  likely  to  run  across  anywhere 
else. 

"You're  bidden  to  appear,  sir,  at  the  ornate  man- 
sion of  a  Senator  of  the  United  States — the  Senator, 
perhaps,  I  should  say,  I've  secured  the  invitation,  and 
Mrs.  Rexhill  will  never  recognize  me  again  if  you 
don't  go." 

"Would  that  be  serious?" 

"Very  serious.  I  am  counsel  for  one  of  the  Sena- 
tor's companies." 

"And  does  that  imply  social  obligation?" 

"It  does  with  Mrs.   Rexhill." 

"Oh,  very  well,  I'll  go  anywhere  once,  but  who  is 
Mrs.  Rexhill?  I  suppose,  of  course,  she  is  the  Sena- 
tor's wife,  but  who  is  she  in  society?  I  never  heard 
of  her." 

"You  wouldn't;  it  isn't  what  she  is,  it  is  what  she 
wants  to  be.  You  must  not  laugh  at  her;  she  is  doing 
the  best  she  can.  You'll  admit  one  thing  readily 
enough  when  you  see  her.  She  is  probably  the  hand- 
somest woman  of  her  age  in  Chicago,  and  she  isn't 
more  than  forty.  Where  the  Senator  found  her,  I 
can't  say,  but  she  was  his  wife  when  he  made  his 
first  strike  in  Denver,  and  I  will  say  to  his  credit  that 
he  has  always  been  a  devoted  husband." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  something  to  his  credit,"  said 
Wade  dryly.  "The  general  impression  I've  gathered 
from  reading  the  newspapers  lately,  hasn't  been  of 
the  most  exalted  sort." 

"Oh,  well,"  replied  Stout,  and  his  habitual  grin 
faded  away  as  he  spoke.  "A  man  in  public  life  al- 


26  HIDDEN  GOLD 

ways  makes  enemies,  and  the  Senator  has  plenty  of 
them.  It  almost  seems  sometimes  that  he  has  more 
enemies  than  friends,  and  yet  he  has  certainly  been 
a  very  successful  man,  not  only  in  politics,  but  in  busi- 
ness. He  has  more  irons  in  the  fire  than  any  one  else 
I  know,  and  somehow  or  other  he  seems  to  put  every- 
thing through.  I  doubt  if  he  could  do  so  well  if  he 
was  not  at  the  same  time  a  political  power." 

"Yes,"  said  Wade,  still  more  dryly.  "I  have  heard 
the  two  facts  mentioned  together." 

"Come,  come,"  said  Stout,  more  earnestly  than  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  speaking,  "you  mustn't  put  too 
much  faith  in  what  the  newspapers  say.  I  know  how 
they  talk  about  him  in  the  other  party,  but  I  happen 
to  know  him  pretty  well  personally,  and  there  is  a 
good  side  to  him  as  I  suppose  there  is  to  everybody. 
Anyhow,  he  pays  me  well  for  my  professional  serv- 
ices, and  I  have  seen  nothing  thus  far  that  leads  me 
to  be  disloyal  to  him." 

It  seemed  to  Wade's  sensitive  ear  that  his  friend 
was  speaking  with  a  large  mental  reservation,  but 
wisely  reflecting  that  the  matter  did  not  concern  him, 
he  said  no  more,  and  when  evening  came,  he  went, 
willingly  enough,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  man 
who  was  then  counted  as  one  of  the  greatest  political 
powers  in  the  country.  Nor  had  he  any  premonition 
that  in  the  near  future  he  and  his  host  of  the  evening 
would  be  engaged  in  a  life  and  death  struggle. 

Of  all  that,  however,  there  was  no  present  indica- 
tion whatever.  On  the  contrary,  the  great  man  wel- 
comed him  with  all  the  suavity  of  manner  for  which 


A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  27 

he  was  equally  as  famous  as  he  was  for  the  over-bear- 
ing rudeness  he  often  displayed  when  his  will  was  dis- 
puted. This  latter  trait  had  won  for  him  the  nick- 
name of  the  Czar  of  American  Politics;  but  he  was  an 
adroit  politician,  not  lacking  in  courtesy  to  guests  in 
his  own  house.  Moreover,  he  was  keen  in  his  appraisal 
of  men  and  quick  to  see  that  a  man  of  Wade's  type 
would  be  more  valuable  to  him  as  an  ally  than  as  a 
foe. 

Accordingly,  he  presented  the  young  aristocrat  to 
Mrs.  Rexhill,  who  openly  showed  her  delight  in  meet- 
ing one  of  such  distinguished  appearance,  and  with  a 
great  display  of  cordiality,  she  introduced  him  to  her 
daughter  Helen. 

"It  is  her  coming-out  party,  Mr.  Wade,"  she  said, 
gushingly,  "and  you  must  do  all  you  can  to  make  it  a 
happy  occasion." 

One  glance  at  the  beautiful  girl  who  stood  before 
him  was  enough  to  determine  Wade  that  her  evening 
should  be  as  happy  as  he  could  make  it.  The  glaring 
ostentation  of  the  house  and  its  equipment  had  offended 
his  fastidious  taste  when  he  entered,  and  the  sight  of 
the  really  handsome,  but  vulgarly  overdressed  and 
richly  be-jeweled  mother,  had  made  him  shudder  in- 
wardly, but  when  he  looked  into  Helen's  eyes,  he  for- 
got all  his  first  impressions  and  imagined  himself  in 
Fairyland  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 

An  older  head  than  his  might  easily  have  been  turned 
and  a  wiser  man  bewildered  by  the  tender  glances  of 
the  charming  girl  who  frankly  met  his  advances  half 
way,  being  as  much  impressed  by  his  appearance  as 


28  HIDDEN  GOLD 

he  with  hers,  and  showing  carelessness  equal  to  his 
in  regard  to  the  comment  they  excited  among  the 
other  guests.  One  thing  that  Helen  Rexhill  had  never 
learned  at  school,  or  from  the  parents  who  had  done 
all  that  could  be  done  to  spoil  her,  was  to  conceal  her 
feelings.  Just  now  she  felt  no  inclination  to  do  it, 
and  she  gave  Wade  dance  after  dance,  with  reckless 
disregard  of  her  engagements  and  of  the  ill-concealed 
anger  of  some  of  the  men  she  threw  over  with  utter 
carelessness  of  social  obligation. 

Wade  saw  it  clearly  enough,  but  the  preference  she 
showed  for  him  was  so  flattering  as  to  make  him  indif- 
ferent, even  had  he  considered  himself  responsible.  He 
was  therefore  amused  rather  than  exultant  when  man 
after  man  came  up  to  claim  a  dance,  only  to  be  told 
"I  just  promised  this  one  to  Mr.  Wade." 

One  such  there  was,  who  took  his  rebuff  exceed- 
ing ill.  Instead  of  retiring  as  the  others  had  done,  he 
stepped  up  closer  to  the  girl  and  said  rudely,  "That's 
all  very  well,  Helen,  but  you  promised  me  first,  and 
I  hold  you  to  it." 

And  he  looked  contemptuously  at  Wade  who  had 
started  in  surprise  at  his  words,  and  had  stiffened  him- 
self instinctively,  as  if  to  interfere,  but  who  controlled 
himself  instantly  and  kept  silent  despite  his  inclination. 

A  moment  later  he  was  glad  he  had  done  so.  Helen's 
eyes  flashed  and  she  straightened  her  form  proudly  as 
she  spoke. 

"Did  I  really  promise  you,  Race  Moran?  If  I  did, 
I  have  forgotten  it,  and  anyhow,  I  am  going  to  sit 
this  dance  out  with  Mr.  Wade  in  the  conservatory." 


A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  29 

Race  Moran,  as  she  called  him,  was  a  handsome 
enough  man,  though  rather  flashy  in  appearance.  But 
the  evil  look  that  came  quickly  on  his  face,  no  less 
than  his  huge  and  burly  build,  indicated  that  he  would 
have  been  more  at  home  in  a  bar-room  or  a  street  fight, 
than  where  he  was.  For  just  a  moment  he  seemed 
about  to  say  more,  but  apparently  thought  better  of  it, 
and  turning  away  with  what  sounded  like  a  muttered 
oath,  he  walked  toward  the  Senator,  who  stood  at 
the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"I've  made  an  enemy  for  you  Mr.  Wade,"  said 
Helen,  half  laughingly  and  half  seriously,  as  she  led  the 
way  to  the  conservatory,  closely  followed  by  her  eager 
escort 

"Well,"  said  Wade  lightly,  "they  say  a  man  is 
poor,  indeed,  who  hasn  t  a  few  enemies.  I  don't  know 
that  one  more  or  less  is  of  great  importance,  but  it 
is  well  to  know  something  about  them.  Who  is  the 
gentleman?''" 

"I  hardly  think  you  would  call  him  a  gentleman," 
said  Helen,  "though  he  thinks  he's  one;  I  wouldn't 
tolerate  him  a  moment,  only  on  my  father's  account. 
Dad  calls  him  a  political  heeler,  and  says  he  is  very 
useful." 

"He  ought  to  be  that,"  said  Wade,  smiling;  "I'd 
hardly  call  him  ornamental  " 

"Indeed  he  isn't,"  said  Helen,  pouting  prettily,  "and 
he  presumes  too  much  on  Dad's  favor.  He  actually 
persecutes  me  with  his  attentions,  but  you  know  a  poli- 
tician's daughter  has  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal,  some- 
times." 


30  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"I  don't  think  you  need  to  suffer  much,"  said  Wade, 
gallantly.  "You  will  always  find  admirers  enough  to 
stand  between  you  and  any  trouble  you  may  have.  I 
rather  think  there  is  one  of  them  coming  this  way  at 
the  moment.  I  shall  certainly  take  pleasure  in  recog- 
nizing Mr.  Moran  as  an  enemy,  but  is  this  likely  to  be 
another  one?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Helen,  laughingly,  as  an  effeminate 
looking  young  man  came  up,  evidently  in  search  of  her. 

"I  beg  pardon,  Miss  Helen,"  he  said,  with  a  bow  that 
seemed  to  include  Wade,  politely  enough,  in  the 
apology,  "But  your  mother  asked  me  to  find  you.  She 
wants  you  to  meet  some  new  guests  who  have  just 
arrived." 

"Oh,  bother,"  said  Helen  carelessly.  "She  can  look 
after  them  for  a  while.  Tell  her  I'll  be  with  her  by- 
and-by,"  and  she  turned  back  to  Wade,  paying  no  fur- 
ther attention  to  the  luckless  messenger,  who  departed, 
hiding  his  chagrin  as  best  he  could,  though  not  very 
successfully. 

After  he  had  gone,  she  said,  "No,  I  don't  think  Max- 
well Frayne  is  likely  to  be  an  enemy ;  at  least,  not  one 
that  you  need  fear.  He  is  a  gentleman,  though  he  is 
too  insipid  to  interest  me." 

"And  you  think  Moran  is  a  man  to  fear,"  asked 
Wade,  trying  to  speak  gravely,  but  showing  amuse- 
ment in  spite  of  himself. 

"I  don't  believe  you  fear  the  devil,"  said  Helen, 
with  open  admiration,  "but  Race  Moran  can  be  very 
dangerous,  and  I  feel  sure  he  will  try  to  injure  you, 
if  he  ever  finds  a  chance." 


A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  31 

"Well  in  that  case  he  will  at  least  be  interesting," 
said  Wade,  lightly.  He  would  have  been  amazed  if 
he  had  realized  at  the  time  how  prophetic  the  girl's 
words  were. 

For  the  moment,  however,  he  had  little  thought  of 
peril  and  adventures  to  come.  The  time,  the  girl  and 
the  place,  were  all  at  hand,  and  he  plunged  headlong 
into  a  complication  that  kept  him  for  weeks  in  Chicago, 
strongly  inclined  to  stay  permanently,  yet  reluctant 
to  settle  in  a  city  so  little  to  his  liking,  when  the  great 
outdoors  was  calling  to  him  so  urgently. 

While  the  petals  of  the  passion  flower  were  unfold- 
ing so  rapidly  in  the  conservatory,  Race  Moran  had 
taken  the  Senator  to  the  latter's  private  room  where 
they  had  had  many  secret  conferences  before.  He  had 
done  the  great  man  favors  in  New  York  where  he  was 
a  valuable  cog  in  the  political  machine,  while  the  Sen- 
ator was  still  a  new-comer  in  the  field,  and  with  ac- 
curate judgment  he  had  foreseen  that  Rexhill  would  be 
a  winner. 

Quick  to  see  opportunities,  he  had  cultivated  the  lat- 
ter's acquaintance  and  courted  his  favor  until  he  had 
become  the  Senator's  most  trusted  adherent,  and  was 
admitted  to  the  closest  intimacy,  so  that  he  had  become 
a  constant  visitor  in  the  Rexhill  home,  and  had  defi- 
nitely determined  in  his  own  mind,  to  become  one  of 
the  family.  He  knew  well  enough  that  Helen  disliked 
him,  but  his  ideas  of  women  had  been  gained  from 
association  with  a  class  that  is  easily  dominated,  and 
he  was  confident  of  his  own  powers,  which,  in  fact, 
were  very  considerable. 


32  HIDDEN  GOLD 

The  Senator  was  not  blind  to  the  other's  purpose, 
but  though  he  was  far  from  approving  it,  having  other 
ideas  concerning  the  daughter  he  idolized,  he  had  not 
sought  to  discourage  Moran,  nor  did  he  intend  to.  He 
would  let  him  go  on  until  a  crisis  should  come,  and  in 
the  meantime,  Moran  had  not  declared  himself. 

Helen's  insolence  at  the  door  of  the  conservatory, 
however,  had  stung  Moran,  and  as  soon  as  he  had  the 
Senator  in  seclusion,  he  broke  out. 

"Who  is  that  puppy  Helen  has  on  a  string  to-night?" 
he  demanded  roughly. 

But  the  Senator  could  overlook  rudeness  when  it 
suited  his  purpose  to  do  so. 

"I  wouldn't  call  him  a  puppy  exactly,"  he  said, 
pleasantly  enough ;  "he  is  a  good  deal  younger  than  you 
and  I,  but  he  comes  of  pretty  good  stock  in  your  town, 
Moran,  and  Stout  tells  me  he  has  distinguished  himself 
already  in  two  or  three  ways.  I  reckon  he'd  be  a  pretty 
good  friend  to  have,  if  he  ever  takes  an  interest  in 
politics." 

"Oh,  I  know  the  Wade  family  all  right,"  said  Moran 
impatiently;  "they  belong  to  the  silk  stockings,  but 
we  have  our  own  way  of  dealing  with  that  kind  in 
New  York,  and  I'm  able  to  do  the  same  thing  any- 
where else,  if  I  have  to.  Maybe  I  will  have  to  if  he 
comes  between  me  and  Helen.  Senator,  I  want  to 
marry  that  girl  myself.  I  ain't  asking  your  consent, 
exactly,  for  me  and  her  will  be  likely  to  do  what  we 
want  to,  anyhow,  but  I'd  a  heap  rather  have  you  favor 
the  match." 

That  was  almost  too  much,  but  the  Senator  knew  his 


A  MEETING  AND  A  PARTING  33 

man  and  also  knew  how  valuable  he  was.  There  was 
no  sense  in  breaking  with  him  until  it  was  unavoidable, 
so  he  still  spoke  pleasantly,  though  he  had  flushed  with 
anger  for  a  moment. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  you  and  Helen  will  do  as  you  like 
about  it,  especially  as  Helen  likes.  It  was  sort  of  decent 
of  you  to  speak  to  me  first,  but  there  doesn't  seem  to 
be  anything  particular  for  me  to  say  till  you  find  out 
what  Helen  really  thinks." 

"Oh,  I'll  find  that  out,  all  right,"  said  Moran,  boast- 
fully. "But  this  Wade  person  better  look  out ;  I  might 
have  him  run  into  the  river  some  night,  if  he  pokes  his 
nose  in  too  far." 

"I'd  go  easy  on  that,  if  I  were  you,"  said  the  Sen- 
ator laughing  heartily,  "a  dead  Wade  might  interfere 
with  your  plans  worse  than  a  live  one." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  replied  Moran,  refusing  to  laugh. 
"I  talk  foolish  with  my  mouth  sometimes,  when  I'm 
mad,  but  all  the  same,  he'd  better  look  out." 

"Now  I  wonder,"  said  the  Senator  thoughtfully, 
after  the  other  had  left  him,  "how  long  it  will  be  before 
he  does  find  out,  and  how  serious  it  will  be.  He's  hit 
pretty  hard,  but  I  will  have  to  keep  him  along  some 
way  or  other ;  I  can't  afford  to  lose  him." 

And  he  sat  musing  over  his  cigar  till  one  by  one 
his  guests  had  gone,  but  not  until  the  great  drawing 
room  was  well-nigh  empty,  did  Helen  leave  the  con- 
servatory. 

For  a  few  weeks  thereafter  Chicago  seemed,  to 
Gordon  Wade's  fancy,  to  be  the  very  center  of  the 
Universe.  Gradually,  however,  the  sturdy  nature  of 


34  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  man  asserted  itself,  and  realizing  that  for  him  there 
were  many  more  desirable  places,  he  determined  to 
look  farther  before  choosing  a  permanent  home.  He 
told  Helen  frankly  of  his  purpose,  and  to  his  great 
satisfaction  she  approved.  There  was  no  definite  word 
of  marriage  between  them,  though  they  both  looked 
forward  to  it  and  both,  at  the  time  of  parting,  deemed 
the  understanding  complete  between  them. 

Helen  would  have  had  him  turn  to  the  East,  for  her 
heart  was  set  on  city  life  in  one  of  the  world's  great 
capitals,  but  he  declared  he  must  see  the  West  before 
deciding,  and  though  she  was  dissatisfied,  she  was  too 
wise  to  seek  the  domination  she  intended,  at  that  stage 
of  the  game. 

He  departed,  therefore,  to  find  in  Wyoming  later 
on,  his  ideal  of  a  home.  His  thought  of  Chicago  there- 
after, was  that  of  the  place  where  the  girl  he  thought 
he  loved  was  waiting  for  him,  to  claim  her,  so  soon 
as  his  home  was  made  suitable.  There  was  much  to 
do  by  way  of  preparation,  however,  and  almost  im- 
perceptibly his  ardor  cooled  as  he  found  himself  be- 
coming prominent  among  the  bold  and  independent 
citizens  who  were  rapidly  putting  Wyoming  on  the 
map. 


CHAPTER  III 

JEALOUSY 

MEANTIME,  many  things  of  great  interest  to  Gordon 
Wade  happened  without  his  knowledge. 

A  national  election  at  which  the  previously  dominant 
party  was  defeated,  was  a  sad  blow  to  Senator  Rex- 
hill,  who  not  only  suffered  in  prestige  but  in  pocket. 
There  was  no  question,  even  in  the  minds  of  his  friends, 
that  he  frequently  used  his  political  influence  to  back 
up  the  many  business  enterprises  in  which  he  held  an 
interest,  and  in  which  the  greater  part  of  his  quickly- 
made  fortune  was  invested.  With  the  loss  of  his 
political  pull,  disaster  came  to  one  after  another  of 
those  enterprises,  and  his  successive  losses  were  soon 
heavy  enough  to  drive  him  almost  to  desperation. 

His  previous  successes,  however,  had  all  been  due 
to  the  audacity  of  his  plans,  for  his  boldness  and  cour- 
age were  unquestionable.  For  a  time  he  felt  confident 
of  winning  again,  and  accordingly,  maintained  his  lav- 
ish expenditures  and  luxurious  style  of  living,  with  no 
word  of  caution  to  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  he  con- 
tinned  to  seek  for  the  long  chances  in  business  that 
offered  the  largest  risks  and  the  greatest  gains. 

All  the  redeeming  qualities  of  his  nature  (and  he 
had  more  than  his  enemies  gave  him  credit  for),  were 
shown  in  his  family  life,  and  it  was  not  surprising  that 
Helen  and  her  mother  were  both  undisturbed  by  the 

35 


36  HIDDEN  GOLD 

gathering  storm,  but  continued  to  live  as  he  encouraged 
them  to,  having  perfect  confidence  in  his  ability  to 
overcome  any  and  all  the  difficulties  he  might  encounter. 

Mrs.  Rexhill  continued  to  dream  of  social  distinc- 
tion. Failing  to  see  that  she  had  lost  much  of  her  own 
prestige  by  the  Senator's  political  reverses,  she  con- 
tinued to  entertain  so  extravagantly  in  her  palatial 
home,  that  she  was  still  tolerated  and  she  took  infinite 
satisfaction  in  the  position  she  thought  she  occupied. 

She  considered  Chicago  the  greatest  city  in  the  world, 
and  she  dreamed  of  Helen  as  its  queen.  To  her  mind, 
the  easiest  way  to  accomplish  that  ambition  was  to 
persuade  Helen  to  marry  Maxwell  Frayne.  He  had 
persistently  courted  the  girl  ever  since  he  first  met  her, 
and  he  was  heir  to  the  great  Frayne  fortune. 

The  idea  was  not  entirely  revolting  to  Helen,  though 
she  had  a  small  opinion  of  the  elegant  young  trifler  who 
pursued  her  so  persistently,  for  she,  too,  had  social 
aspirations,  though  being  more  clear-sighted  than  her 
mother,  she  dreamed  of  wider  circles  than  those  of 
Chicago.  Her  husband,  whoever  he  was  to  be,  should 
take  her  to  Paris,  or  at  least  to  New  York. 

Her  infatuation  for  Gordon  Wade,  however,  was  as 
strong  as  ever.  Perhaps  she  was  right  in  thinking  of 
it  as  true  love,  but  she  was  greatly  annoyed  by  Wade's 
choice  of  a  ranchman's  life,  and  by  his  settling  down 
out  of  the  world,  as  she  considered  he  had  done.  Her 
letters  to  him,  tender  as  they  were,  told  him  plainly 
enough  of  her  dissatisfaction,  and  thereby  undoubtedly 
contributed  to  the  slow  growth  of  his  indifference. 

For  a  time  she  failed  to  perceive  this,  and  enjoy- 


JEALOUSY  37 

ing  the  excitement  of  the  life  she  was  leading,  she  was 
content  to  wait  till  Wade  should  tire  of  the  wilderness, 
as  she  fully  expected  him  to  do,  and  should  return  to 
her.  So  she  drifted,  until  after  a  time  her  suspicions 
were  aroused  by  the  tone  of  his  letters,  and  she  became 
anxious. 

As  time  went  on,  Senator  Rexhill's  affairs  became 
more  and  more  involved.  He  realized  that  he  stood 
little  chance  of  reelection,  when  his  term  of  office 
should  expire,  and  meantime,  his  fortune  dwindled 
rapidly,  though  he  was  still  careful  not  to  betray  that 
fact  at  home. 

Moran  knew  the  situation  perfectly  well,  but  he 
remained  outwardly  loyal  to  his  employer,  partly  be- 
cause of  the  latter's  liberality,  but  more,  perhaps,  be- 
cause of  the  hope  he  still  had  of  winning  Helen 
eventually,  despite  the  dislike  she  took  no  pains  to  hide. 

Knowing  how  bold  the  Senator  was  in  his  specula- 
tions, he  came  to  him  one  day  with  an  exciting  story. 

"There's  a  guy  in  town,"  he  said,  "who  may  be  just 
a  plain  nut,  but  he  has  the  name  of  being  a  scientific 
sharp  who  knows  his  business  from  A  to  Izzard,  and 
he's  either  got  something  almighty  big,  or  he's  got 
the  willies. 

"What  he  says  is,  that  he's  found  gold  in  a  new 
spot  and  oodles  of  it.  According  to  what  he  tells,  it 
beats  California  in  '49.  It's  so  big,  he  says,  that  he's 
scared  stiff,  thinking  he  can't  grab  enough  of  it,  and 
he  don't  know,  no  more'n  a  baby,  what  to  do  with  it. 
So  he's  looking  for  somebody  to  take  hold  of  it  in  a 
big  way  and  give  him  a  whack." 


38  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Where  is  this  gold?"  asked  the  Senator  incredu- 
lously. 

"That's  the  funny  part  of  it,"  says  Moran ;  "it's  in 
Wyoming,  and  as  near  as  I  can  make  out,  it  must  be 
close  to  where  that  young  squirt  is  that  Helen  thinks 
she's  stuck  on.  I'm  not  sure  but  what  it's  on  his 
place,  but  even  if  it  is,  there  is  no  reason  why  he 
should  have  any  of  it.  The  expense  will  be  pretty 
heavy  to  do  the  thing  up  right,  but  if  you're  game,  I 
reckon  we  can  hog  the  whole  business.  We  can  stall 
this  scientific  nut  off  with  promises,  and  probably  buy 
off  Wade  for  the  price  of  pasture  land,  and  then  file 
claim  on  the  whole  dog-gone  tract." 

This  vision  of  enormous  wealth  was  captivating  to 
the  Senator,  who  had  made  his  first  start  in  mining 
and  knew  something  of  its  possibilities.  Bold  as  he 
was,  however,  he  was  also  cautious,  but  after  several 
conferences  with  Moran,  he  fell  in  with  the  scheme, 
first  securing  the  services  of  a  skilled  metallurgist  and 
an  equally  capable  engineer,  who  were  liberally  paid 
and  solemnly  sworn  to  secrecy.  He  sent  them  out  to 
verify  the  discoverer's  story,  and  sent  Moran  to  Crawl- 
ing Water,  to  establish  himself,  and  to  do  such  prepar- 
atory work  as  should  be  necessary.  In  due  time,  Moran 
reported  by  letter  that  the  gold  was  located,  and  was 
beyond  question,  abundant.  He  was  having  trouble, 
however,  in  getting  the  property,  as  Wade  refused  to 
sell. 

"Of  course,"  he  wrote,  "we  can  file  mining  claims 
on  the  ground  we  know  of,  and  get  possession  that 


JEALOUSY  39 

way,  but  we  want  to  make  more  surveys  before  doing 
that,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  getting  all  there  is,  and  we 
can't  do  that  without  giving  the  whole  snap  away,  and 
filling  the  mountains  full  of  prospectors.  If  that  damn 
Wade  won't  sell,  I'll  find  some  means  to  drive  him 
away." 

It  was  just  after  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  which 
filled  the  Senator  with  hope  on  the  one  hand,  and 
anxiety  on  the  other  that  he  came  on  Helen  one  evening, 
as  she  was  entering  her  own  sitting  room,  and  fol- 
lowed her  in  for  a  chat. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  he  asked,  presently, 
when  she  failed  to  notice  some  trivial  question  he  had 
asked,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  reverie. 

She  looked  at  him  with  laughing  eyes. 

"Crawling  Water." 

"Gordon  Wade,  eh?  Well,  I  wouldn't  think  of  him 
too  much.  Better  let  that  pass.  You've  outgrown  it." 

"Oh,  no  I  haven't." 

The  Senator  sighed. 

"Mother  said  to  me  a  little  while  ago,  that  he  was 
probably  going  with  other  girls  and  forgetting  me,  and 
it  made  me  angry." 

"Well,  I  reckon  your  mother  is  about  right.  Gordon 
is  a  likely  looking  chap,  you  know.  I've  got  noth- 
ing against  him,  except  that  he  isn't  good  enough  for 
you;  no  man  is.  You  don't  really  care  so  much  for 
him,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  don't  I  ?"  She  viewed  her  father  through  half 
closed  lids,  in  a  quizzical  way.  "I  care  so  very  much 


40  HIDDEN  GOLD 

for  him  that  if  I  really  thought  there  was  another  girl, 
I  would  go  to  Crawling  Water  to-morrow.  You'd  have 
to  drop  everything  and  take  me." 

Her  father  gently  pinched  her  cheek. 

"I  would,  eh?  Well,  maybe  I'll  have  to  go  out 
there  anyway.  But  do  you  realize  what  Crawling 
Water  is  like, — a  rough,  frontier  town?" 

"I  wouldn't  mind  that  for  a  while." 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  You've  got  too  much  of  your 
old  dad  in  you  to  balk  at  a  few  difficulties.  There's 
somebody  else  out  there  who'd  be  mighty  glad  to  see 
your  pretty  face.  Race  Moran." 

"Mr.  Moran!" 

The  sudden  change  in  the  girl's  tone  from  tender- 
ness to  scorn  caused  the  Senator  a  twinge  of  uneasi- 
ness. His  plans  were  so  closely  linked  with  Moran's 
for  the  present,  that  the  man  might  prove  dangerous 
if  his  love  for  Helen  were  too  openly  scorned.  That 
she  could  scarcely  tolerate  him,  despite  his  ability  and 
force  of  character,  her  father  knew  from  the  past ;  but 
even  in  the  moment  of  his  need  he  did  not  seek  to  in- 
fluence her  in  Moran's  favor.  His  love  for  her  was 
genuine  and  very  deep. 

"He's  been  out  there  for  some  time,  as  my  agent." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  He — he  has  written  to  me, 
although  I've  never  answered  his  letters.  I've  been 
curious  to  hear  from  him  again,  because  he  promised 
to  send  me  some  kodaks  of  Crawling  Water." 

"Maybe  he  hasn't  done  so  because  you've  ignored 
his  letters." 

Helen's  lip  curled  in  disdain. 


JEALOUSY  41 

""He'd  never  let  a  little  thing  like  that  stop  him.  But 
perhaps  I  will  answer  the  next  one,  if  only  to  find 
out  what  is  going  on  out  there.  It's  all  so  very  mys- 
terious. Do  you  know,  father," — She  playfully  shook 
her  finger  at  him — "this  is  the  first  time  in  a  long  whila 
that  you  haven't  taken  me  into  your  confidence,  and  I 
think  it  a  very  ominous  sign.  I'm  sure  you'll  be  pun- 
ished for  it." 

The  Senator  winced  at  the  word  punished,  and  Helen 
laughed  at  what  she  thought  was  the  effect  of  her  rail- 
lery. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me?  You  see,  I'm  so  worried 
about  Gordon.  Honestly,  father,  I'm  serious  about 
that.  I — I  love  him,  and  I  don't  want  him  hurt." 

"Hurt  ?    Why,  who  is  thinking  of  hurting  him  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Moran  hates  him,  and  has  re- 
ferred to  him  once  or  twice  in  a  way  that  I  do  not 
understand.  Do  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"Oh,  well,  my  dear,  there's  really  nothing  to  tell. 
It's  all  concerned  with  some  homestead  lands  out  there 
that  I  want  to  get  hold  of  for  an  investment.  Wade 
will  not  be  hurt,  no ;  that  is,  he  won't  be  if  he  beats  me 
out.  If  I  win,  he'll  lose." 

"He  will?" 

"We  both  can't  win,  of  course.  It's  to  be  a  fight, 
yes, — an  amicable  business  struggle,  I  hope.  There's 
no  reason  for  it  to  be  otherwise."  The  Senator  ap- 
peared strangely  nervous,  despite  his  effort  at  self- 
control.  "Wade  as  a  man  and  a  Westerner  doesn't 
expect  to  be  fed  on  pap,  you  know,  any  more  than  I 
do.  May  the  best  man  win,  that's  the  way  of  it." 


42  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Helen  thought  this  over  for  a  moment. 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  go  out  there  with  you,  after 
all,"  she  remarked,  half  in  jest. 

Then  the  Senator  thought  that  over  for  a  moment 
and  left  the  room. 

Next  day  Helen  received  a  package  by  mail  which 
proved  to  contain  a  dozen  clear  photographs  of  Crawl- 
ing Water  and  its  neighborhood. 

First  of  all,  as  though  Moran  thought  it  most  im- 
portant, was  a  snapshot  of  himself,  which  had  been 
taken,  so  he  wrote  on  the  back  of  the  print,  by  an 
obliging  cowboy.  The  girl's  face  was  a  study  in 
amused  scorn  as  she  looked  at  the  photograph,  for 
which  Moran  has  posed  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

Then  there  were  a  number  of  views  of  the  town  it- 
self; of  its  main  street,  its  hotel,  its  dance-hall,  and  of 
"some  of  the  boys"  in  various  poses  of  photographic 
self-consciousness.  There  were  also  pictures  of  the 
marvelously  beautiful  countryside,  but  as  she  neared 
the  end  of  them,  Helen  was  disappointed  to  find  none 
of  Wade.  "Of  course,  he  wouldn't  send  me  one  of 
him"  she  said  petulantly  to  herself,  and  she  was  rapidly 
running  through  the  remaining  prints  only  to  pause 
suddenly  at  the  very  last,  while  a  rosy  tide  flooded  her 
face  and  neck. 

The  little  photograph  showed  a  tall,  handsome, 
vigorous  looking  man,  in  the  garb  of  a  cattleman,  half 
turned  in  his  saddle,  with  one  hand  resting  on  his 
pony's  flank.  The  man  was  Wade.  With  his  other 
hand,  he  was  pointing  ahead,  apparently  for  the  benefit 


JEALOUSY  43 

of  a  girl — a  very  good  looking  girl  whose  fine  head 
was  thrown  back,  as  the  wind  blew  her  hair  into  pretty 
disorder. 

Helen  Rexhill  had  not  hitherto  experienced  real 
jealousy,  but  this  little  photograph  excited  it.  In  the 
highly  actinic  light  of  Crawling  Water  at  noon  the 
camera  had  done  its  work  well,  and  the  figures  of  the 
two  stood  out  from  the  distant  background  with  stereo- 
scopic clearness.  Wade  was  smiling  at  the  girl,  who 
seemed  to  be  laughing  back  at  him,  although  her  face 
in  the  picture  was  partially  turned  away,  so  that  Helen 
got  only  an  impression  of  charm.  But  the  impression 
was  enough  to  rouse  her  jealousy. 

On  the  back  of  the  print,  Moran  had  written : 
"A  surprise  picture  of  Gordon  Wade  and  our  new 
fellow-townswoman,    Miss    Dorothy    Purnell,    whose 
beauty  and  general  attractiveness  have  made  her  the 
idol  of  Crawling  Water." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  GATHERING  STORM 

ON  the  north  bank  of  the  river,  from  which  it  de- 
rived its  name,  the  town  of  Crawling  Water  lay 
sprawled  out  in  the  shape  of  an  irregular  horn.  Its 
original  settlers  had  been  men  of  large  ideas,  and  hav- 
ing had  plenty  of  space  at  their  disposal,  they  had  used 
it  lavishly.  The  streets,  bordered  by  dusty,  weather- 
beaten,  frame  buildings,  were  as  wide  as  those  of  a 
large  city;  indeed,  in  area,  the  town  could  compete 
with  many  a  metropolis;  but  there  the  resemblance 
ended.  Crawling  Water  was  not  fated  to  become  a 
big  city.  The  fact  that  the  nearest  railroad  point  was 
at  Sheridan,  forty  miles  away,  did  away  with  any 
ambitions  that  Crawling  Water  might  have  had  to  be 
more  than  a  neighborhood  center. 

The  mixed  population  was  composed  of  cattle  men, 
sheep  men,  cow  punchers  and  herders,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  gamblers  and  other  riff-raff.  Rough,  uncouth,  full- 
blooded  men,  they  were,  for  the  most  part;  hard  work- 
ing; decisive  in  their  likes  and  dislikes;  fearing  neither 
God  nor  man,  they  met  Life  as  they  found  it  and  faced 
Death  with  a  laugh.  They  were  the  last  of  a  fast 
disappearing  type,  picturesque,  but  lacking  in  many  of 
the  attributes  which  differentiate  mankind  from  the 
beasts. 

44 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  45 

Hardly  more  than  a  village,  Crawling  Water  was  yet 
a  town,  and  the  seat  of  such  machinery  of  government 
as  had  been  established,  and  accordingly,  Gordon  Wade 
had  ridden  directly  thither  after  his  far  from  satis- 
factory interview  with  Oscar  Jensen.  After  he  had 
stabled  his  horse  and  seen  it  fed,  he  started  up  the 
street  in  the  direction  of  Moran's  office.  He  was  re- 
solved to  find  out  where  the  agent  stood  on  the  sheep 
question  without  any  unnecessary  delay.  Save  for  a 
few  dogs,  sleeping  in  the  blaze  of  the  noon-day  sun, 
which  hung  overhead  like  a  ball  of  fire,  the  town  seemed 
deserted. 

When  Wade  entered  the  office,  Moran  was  seated 
at  his  desk,  chewing  on  a  cigar,  above  which  his  closely 
cropped  reddish  mustache  bristled.  Like  Senator  Rex- 
hill,  he  was  a  man  of  girth  and  bulk,  but  his  ape-like 
body  was  endowed  with  a  strength  which  not  even  his 
gross  life  had  been  able  to  wreck,  and  he  was  always 
muscularly  fit.  Except  for  the  miner's  hip  boots,  which 
he  wore,  he  was  rather  handsomely  dressed,  and  would 
have  been  called  tastefully  so  in  the  betting  ring  of 
a  metropolitan  race-track,  where  his  diamond  scarf-pin 
and  ring  would  have  been  admired. 

"Hello!"  he  boomed  as  Wade  entered.  "Have  a 
cigar."  He  pushed  a  box  of  an  excellent  brand  toward 
his  visitor  and  waved  him  to  a  chair.  His  greeting  was 
noisy  rather  than  cordial. 

Wade  declined  both  the  chair  and  the  cigar. 

"I  dropped  in  to  find  out  why  you  told  Jensen  to 
run  his  sheep  in  on  my  range,"  he  began  bluntly. 

"Let  me  see — "    The  agent  very  deliberately  lifted 


46  HIDDEN  GOLD 

a  large,  white  hand  and  took  the  cigar  out  of  his  mouth. 
"Just  what  range  is  that?" 

"The  upper  valley  range  which  I  have  under  lease." 

"Which  you  have  under  lease?"  Moran  affected 
sarcastic  surprise.  "I  wasn't  aware  that  you  had  any 
legal  right  to  that  part  of  the  valley.  It's  government 
land,  ain't  it?" 

"You  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  you  once  tried  to 
buy  the  lease  from  me."  The  rancher  bared  his  teeth 
in  a  grim  smile.  "We'll  not  quibble  over  that,  however. 
We've  got  our  legal  rights,  all  of  us ;  but  we're  a  long 
distance  from  the  courts  here.  What  I  want  to  know 
in  plain  English  is,  will  you  order  Jensen  to  trail  those 
sheep?  Now,  wait  a  moment!" 

Moran  subsided  with  a  show  of  tolerance  he  did  not 
feel. 

"Think  well  before  you  answer,"  Wade  went  on. 
"I'm  not  here  to  threaten  you,  but  there  are  desperate 
men  in  this  valley  who  will  take  matters  into  their 
own  hands,  if  this  business  is  not  stopped.  There's 
plenty  of  grass  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  and 
your  sheep  are  welcome  to  it.  Why  don't  you  make 
use  of  it?" 

"Why  should  I  ?  The  sheep  have  a  right  to  be  where 
they  are  and  there  they'll  stay  until  I  get  ready  to  move 
'em.  You  cattle  men  think  you  own  this  country,  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  show  down,  you're  a  bunch  of 
bluffers.  Now,  Wade,  I  made  you  an  offer  once, — 
I'll  admit  it,  and  I'll  make  it  again  for  the  last  time. 
Sell  me  your  homestead  and  lease  rights  at  the  price 
I  offered  you — ten  thousand  dollars,  and  get  out  smil- 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  47 

ing.    There  isn't  room  for  the  two  of  us  in  the  valley." 

"Ten  thousand  for  the  homestead  and  the  lease  com- 
bined!" Wade  laughed  mirthlessly.  "You're  crazy, 
man.  Why,  you  offered  me  that  much  for  the  lease 
alone  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"Did  I?  I'd  forgotten  it.  Anyway,  it's  a  fair  offer. 
The  land  is  still  owned  by  Uncle  Sam,  you  know.  You 
haven't  proved  up  on  your  claims,  and  you  never  will 
if  I  can  help  it.  We  are  spending  lots  of  money  here, 
and  the  government  will  see  that  our  interests  are  pro- 
tected. You  cattle  men  can't  hog  the  whole  of  Crawl- 
ing Water  Valley.  Times  have  changed.  Well,  what 
do  you  say?" 

The  ranchman  dismissed  the  proposition  with  a  ges- 
ture, but  did  not  immediately  speak.  Silently,  the  two 
big  men  faced  each  other,  their  glances  crossing  like 
raoiers;  the  cattle  man  like  a  statue  in  bronze  in  the 
fixed  rigidity  of  his  attitude,  but  with  an  expression 
that  showed  him  one  dangerous  to  trifle  with;  the 
agent  affecting  that  half  tolerant  amusement  which 
one  may  feel  toward  an  enemy  unworthy  of  one's 
prowess.  Wade  presently  broke  the  silence. 

"Moran,  you  may  be  a  big  man  in  the  East,  but 
vou're  not  big  enough  for  the  job  you've  tackled  here. 
TVe  held  my  friends  back  as  long  as  T  can — longer  than 
T  thought  T  could — and  when  they  break  loose,  this 
valley  will  be  a  little  hell,  perhaps  a  shambles.  Men  are 
going  to  be  killed,  and  I  have  a  feeling  that  you  are 
going  to  be  one  of  them.  Against  that  time,  once 
more,  I  warn  you.  Tell  Jensen  to  trail  his  sheep!" 

Swinging  on  his  heel,  the  ranchman  left  the  office, 


48  HIDDEN  GOLD 

paying  no  attention  to  the  ironical  "Good  night,"  which 
Moran  called  after  him. 

In  the  street,  Wade  chanced  upon  a  neighboring 
cattle  owner,  Lem  Trowbridge  of  the  Circle  Heart 
outfit,  who  fell  into  step  with  him. 

"Gordon,  how  long  are  we  going  to  stand  for  this 
thing,  eh?  Say,  do  you  know  what  some  are  saying 
about  you?  Now,  I'm  your  friend,  and  I'm  telling 
you  straight  that  you've  gone  far  enough  with  this 
pacifist  stuff." 

"They  say  I'm  afraid,  I  suppose?"  Wade  stopped 
and  faced  Trowbridge.  "Have  they  said  that  to  you  ?" 

"To  me?  Say,  what  the kind  of  a  friend  do 

you  take  me  for?"  Trowbridge  flamed  up  like  a  match. 
"No,  they  haven't  said  just  that,  Gordon;  but  they're 
hinting,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

"Well,  if  you  hear  it  direct,  send  the  man  on  to  me 
with  it,"  said  Wade,  his  lips  compressing  ominously. 
"I'm  about  through,  Lem,  not  quite,  but  pretty  nearly. 
I've  told  Moran  to  have  Jensen  trail  those  sheep,  and 
if  he  doesn't  .  .  ." 

Trowbridge  nodded  and  smiled,  as  they  paused  at  a 
street  corner — one  of  the  few  that  Crawling  Water 
possessed. 

"That's  the  idea,  Gordon.  We'll  all  be  the  readier 
for  the  waiting.  Well,  I'll  not  go  any  farther  with 
you."  He  winked  with  elaborate  precision  and  looked 
in  the  direction  of  a  snug  little  cottage,  with  flower 
boxes  in  the  windows,  a  biscuit  toss  away.  "She's 
home.  I  saw  her  leave  the  store  yonder  a  little  while 
ago." 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  49 

Wade  blushed  like  a  boy  and  looked  foolish. 

"I  don't  get  into  town  so  very  often,"  he  began 
lamely,  when  Trowbridge  slapped  him  heartily  on  the 
back. 

"You  don't  need  to  make  any  excuses  to  me,  old 
man,"  he  said,  moving  off.  "That  little  woman  has 
put  Crawling  Water  on  edge  with  admiration.  You're 
not  the  only  one — or,  maybe,  you  are." 

Secretly  eager  though  Wade  was  to  reach  the  cot- 
tage, the  nearer  he  approached  it,  the  slower  he  walked, 
fuming  at  himself  for  his  sudden  spinelessness.  Al- 
though no  ladies'  man,  he  had  never  been  woman  wary 
until  lately,  and  this  of  itself  was  a  sign,  the  signifi- 
cance of  which  he  was  far  from  realizing.  When  he 
was  with  Dorothy  Purnell,  he  almost  forgot  her  sex 
in  the  easy  companionability  of  their  relationship; 
when  away  from  her,  he  thought  no  more  of  her  than 
he  might  of  some  man  friend;  but  the  approach  had 
become  a  matter  of  embarrassing  difficulty  with  him. 
There  had  even  been  occasions  when  he  had  walked 
past  the  cottage  and  ridden  home  without  seeing  her, 
trying  speciously  to  convince  himself  that  such  had 
all  along  been  his  intention. 

Something  of  the  sort  might  have  happened  now  had 
she  not  hailed  him  from  the  open  doorway. 

"Whither  bound,  stranger?"  she  smilingly  de- 
manded, in  her  low,  rich  contralto.  "Better  come  in 
where  it's  cool.  Mother'll  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  I — 
shan't  mind." 

She  had  come  to  Crawling  Water  for  the  restora- 
tive effect  of  the  bracing  mountain  air  upon  the  health 


50  HIDDEN  GOLD 

of  her  mother,  who  was  threatened  with  nervous  in- 
validism,  following  the  death  of  Mr.  Purnell,  two 
years  before.  The  town  called  them  Easterners  be- 
cause their  home  was  as  far  East  as  Michigan,  but 
they  had  never  been  city  dwellers,  as  Dorothy's  fresh 
complexion  and  lithe,  alert  figure  bore  witness. 

Her  chestnut  hair,  piled  in  a  silken  crown  on  her 
shapely  head,  shaded  a  face  that  made  those  who  saw 
it  for  the  first  time,  catch  their  breath  in  instant  admir- 
ation. Her  radiance  was  of  a  glorious,  compelling, 
and  wholly  distinct  type,  as  refreshing  as  some  view 
of  green  mountains  from  out  a  gloomy  canyon.  She 
had  eyes,  blue  in  repose,  but  shading  to  violet  tints 
when  aglow  with  vivacity;  her  nose  was  not  perfect, 
because  a  trifle  tip-tilted,  but  her  face  gained  character 
through  the  defect ;  her  very  red  lips  held  most  deli- 
cious allurement  in  their  slightly  full  curves.  Her 
hands  and  feet  were  small  enough  to  pay  tribute  to 
her  birth  and  breeding,  but  not  so  small  as  to  be  doll- 
like.  She  wore  a  simple,  white  dress,  freshly  laun- 
dered, which  made  her  look  cool  and  inviting. 

"You  won't  mind?  Now  that's  good  of  you,  and 
no  mistake."  Wade  shook  hands  with  her,  slowly  re- 
linquishing her  cool  palm.  "How  is  Mrs.  Purnell? 
Better?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so.  You're  better,  aren't  you, 
mother?"  she  asked,  as  they  entered  the  cozy  little 
living-room,  where  the  temperature  was  in  pleasant 
contrast  to  the  outer  heat.  "The  air  up  here  does  you 
good,  doesn't  it?" 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  51 

Mrs.  Purnell,  a  dispirited  little  person,  admitted  that 
she  felt  very  well  indeed,  and  seemed  cheered  at  the 
sight  of  Wade,  who  greeted  her  deferentially  but  with 
easy  geniality.  She  liked  him  for  his  wholesomeness, 
and  she  frequently  declared  that  he  was  worth  all  the 
doctors  in  the  country  because  of  the  impression  of 
health  and  optimism  which  he  bore  with  him.  But 
she  was  aware  that  Dorothy  liked  him,  too,  and  so 
presently  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  two  young  peo- 
ple together 

"Now,  you  may  tell  me  all  about  what's  worrying 
you,"  the  girl  said,  seating  herself  across  from  Wade. 
"Something  is.  You  can't  keep  the  signs  from  me." 

"Good  girl!"  His  voice  held  a  suggestion  of  ten- 
derness, as  he  rolled  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  in  the 
home-like  privilege  which  they  allowed  him  there. 
"That's  your  way,  always.  No  matter  who's  in  trouble, 
you  are  ready  to  hasten  to  the  rescue." 

"Oh — ,"  she  deprecatingly  began,  with  a  trace  of 
violet  showing  in  her  eyes,  which  meant  a  great  deal 
more  than  words. 

"No  wonder  every  man  in  the  valley  considers  him- 
self your  own,  especial  knight." 

"I  thought  perhaps  I  could  help  you,"  she  said 
briskly,  to  cover  her  sentimental  moment.  "But  that 
wa6  foolish  of  me,  too,  wasn't  it?  The  idea  of  any 
one  helping  you." 

"I'm  likely  to  need  all  my  friends  soon,  Dorothy," 
Wade  answered  soberly.  "I  came  in  to-day  to  see 
Race  Moran.  There's  a  big  band  of  sheep  on  our 


52  HIDDEN  GOLD 

upper  range,  and  Jensen,  who  has  charge  of  them, 
admitted  to  me  this  morning  that  Moran  is  behind 
him." 

"Goodness,  more  sheep!  Wherever  do  they  come 
from?" 

"I  don't  know  where  they  come  from,  but  they  can't 
stay  where  they  are  unless  I  go  out  of  business,  that's 
certain."  In  a  few  words,  he  explained  to  her  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  movement,  and  told  her  of  his  talk  with 
Moran.  "I've  no  use  for  the  man,"  he  concluded, 
"and  if  it  comes  to  a  showdown  between  us,  he  need 
expect  no  sympathy.  I've  held  back  as  long  as  I  can. 
I  understand  better  than  he  does  what  the  crack  of 
the  first  rifle  will  lead  to." 

"You  have  not  liked  him  since  you  found  that  he 
took  that  snapshot  of  me,"  she  said  whimsically.  "I 
didn't  mind,  but  I  can't  imagine  what  he  wanted  it 
for." 

Wade's  face  darkened. 

"It  was  a  confounded  impertinence,  whatever  he 
wanted  with  it.  But  my  dislike  of  him  goes  farther 
back  than  that." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  she  asked,  resting  her 
chin  in  her  hand,  and  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes, 
as  she  always  did  to  those  with  whom  she  talked. 

"It  largely  depends  on  him.  Santry — you  know 
how  hot-headed  he  is — would  run  the  herders  away 
by  force  and  kill  off  the  sheep.  As  a  last  resort,  of 
course,  we  may  have  to  do  something  like  that,  but 
I  want  to  win  this  fight  without  open  violence  if  we 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  53 

can.  A  faction  war,  in  the  end,  would  be  likely  to  ruin 
us  all." 

"You  must  be  careful,"  the  girl  declared  earnestly. 
"Moran  is  not  going  to  be  an  easy  man  to  handle.  He 
seems  to  have  plenty  of  money,  and  they  say  here 
in  town  that  he  stands  in  with  the  government;  that 
he  has  some  sort  of  'pull.'  He's  clever,  I  think.  He'll 
trick  you  if  he  can." 

"I'm  sure  of  that,  Dorothy,  but  we're  not  going  to 
let  him.  If  only  .  .  .  !  Say,  do  you  know  some- 
thing else  that  is  being  said  in  this  town?  Something 
that  they're  saying  about  me  ?" 

"Something  nice?"  her  tone  was  archly  inquiring. 

He  leaned  forward  and  lightly  rested  his  hand  on 
her  knee,  just  as  he  might  have  done  with  a  man 
friend,  and  she  took  as  little  notice  of  it.  His  fingers 
were  trembling  a  little  under  the  stress  of  the  emotion 
he  felt. 

"They're  saying,  those  who  don't  like  me,  I  guess, 
that  I'm  afraid  of  Moran  and  his  crowd;  afraid  of  a 
lot  of  sheep  herders.  No,  of  course,  my  friends  don't 
believe  it,"  he  hastened  to  add  when  she  started  to 
interrupt.  "But  it's  not  doing  me  any  good,  especially 
now  that  public  feeling  is  running  so  high." 

"But  you  mustn't  mind  what  they  say,  Gordon. 
That's  part  of  the  courage  your  friends  know  that  you 
have ;  to  do  what  you  feel  to  be  right,  no  matter  what 
is  said." 

Her  cheeks  were  glowing  with  indignation,  and  he 
appreciatively  patted  her  hand  before  sitting  erect  in 


54  HIDDEN  GOLD 

his  chair  again.  It  was  no  wonder,  he  reflected,  in  that 
almost  womanless  land,  that  many  a  cowpuncher  rode 
the  range  by  night,  seeing  her  image  in  every  star. 
The  thought  that  each  single  man,  and  many  a  mar- 
ried one,  in  Crawling  Water,  would  ride  into  the  Pit 
itself  to  win  one  of  her  smiles,  had  been  Wade's  com- 
fort, even  when  he  was  thinking  of  the  possibility  of 
bloodshed  between  the  two  hostile  factions.  But  now, 
in  the  moment  of  her  sympathy  for  him,  he  felt  that 
he  could  not  be  content  without  some  further  assur- 
ance of  her  safety. 

"What  you  say  sounds  well,  Dorothy,  but  my  pride's 
working  on  me,  too,  now.  I  can't  help  it.  If  my 
friends,  who  have  been  good  enough  to  accept  my 
leadership  so  far,  should  lose  their  heads  and  go  to 
it  without  me,  I  might  talk  afterward  until  Kingdom 
come.  I'd  never  convince  anybody  that  I  hadn't 
funked  the  thing.  You  spoke  a  few  minutes  ago  of 
helping  me.  You  can  help  me  a  great  deal." 

Her  lovely  face  instantly  blazed  with  eagerness. 

"Can  I?    How?" 

"By  promising  me  that,  if  it  comes  to  a  fight,  you 
and  your  mother  will  come  out  to  my  ranch.  You'd 
be  safer  there.  That  is,  of  course,  unless  you'd  prefer 
to  leave  Crawling  Water  altogether." 

"Indeed,  I  shouldn't  prefer  to  leave  Crawling  Water 
at  this  stage  of  the  game,  and" — she  smiled  reassur- 
ingly— "I'm  sure  we  should  be  safe  enough  right  here 
whatever  happened.  But,  if  you'd  feel  better  about  it, 
we  would  go  to  the  ranch." 


THE  GATHERING  STORM  55 

"Thanks.  I  feel  better  about  it  already,  more  free 
to  show  my  hand.  You  are  safe  enough  here  now, 
of  course,  and  might  be  clear  through  to  the  finish; 
but  cheap  whiskey  has  led  many  a  fairly  good  man 
astray." 

"If  only  there  were  some  peaceable  way  out  of  it 
all."  Her  eyes  became  anxious  as  she  thought  of  what 
he  might  have  to  face.  "Can't  you  telegraph  to  Wash- 
ington, or  something?" 

"Washington  doesn't  know  whether  Crawling  Water 
is  in  the  United  States  or  in  Timbuctoo,"  Wade 
laughed.  "If  we  had  some  one  in  authority  right  here 
on  the  ground  we  might  make  him  understand,  but 
Mahomet  will  never  come  to  these  mountains,  and  they 
can't  go  to  Mahomet.  Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

His  question  was  prompted  by  the  sudden  elation 
with  which  she  had  clapped  her  hands  and  sprung  to 
her  feet. 

"How  stupid  of  me,  Gordon,  to  have  forgotten." 
She  stood  over  him  with  shining  eyes  and  eager  coun- 
tenance, as  lovely  as  a  Lorelei.  "There  is  an  official 
of  the  United  States  Government  here  at  this  very 
moment." 

"Here?  In  Crawling  Water?"  he  exclaimed  in 
amazement  "Who  is  he?" 

"Senator  Rexhill,  Gordon."  Wade  stared  almost 
vacuously  at  her  as  she  ran  on  with  her  news.  "He 
came  in  with  his  daughter  last  night  on  the  Sheridan 
stage.  Isn't  that  glorious?  You  must  go  up  to  see 
him  at  once." 

"I  will,  of  course,"  Wade  said  slowly,  trying  to  catch 


56  HIDDEN  GOLD 

his  mental  baiance.  "And  with  pleasure,  too.  It's 
been  a  long  time  since  I  last  saw  either  of  them." 

"You  know  them — him  ?"  Dorothy  hesitated  a  little 
over  which  pronoun  to  use,  with  the  somewhat  disturb- 
ing reflection  that  Helen  Rexhill  was  a  most  beautiful 
and  distinguished  looking  girl.  "That  will  make  it  all 
the  easier,"  she  added  generously. 

"Of  course,  Senator  Rexhill  has  no  authority  of  his 
own  in  such  a  matter,  you  know;  but  if  we  can  get 
him  interested,  he  may  wake  up  Washington  in  our 
behalf.  Only,  I  don't  see  what  can  have  brought  him 
to  Crawling  Water." 

"Do  you — do  you  know  the  daughter  well?"  Dor- 
othy asked,  with  feminine  cogency.  "I  suppose  you 
met  her  back  East?" 

"We've  known  each  other  for  a  number  of  years." 
He  arose,  his  face  expressive  of  the  delight  he  felt 
at  the  Rexhills*  presence  in  town.  "We  used  to  be 
good  friends.  You'll  like  her.  But  it's  strange  they 
didn't  tell  me  of  their  coming.  You'll  pardon  me  if  I 
hurry  over  to  the  hotel,  won't  you,  Dorothy?" 

She  gently  urged  him  out  of  the  house. 

"Of  course!  Don't  waste  a  moment,  and  let  me 
know  just  as  soon  as  you  can  what  the  outcome  is.  I 
do  hope  the  Senator  can  settle  all  this  trouble." 

"I  want  you  to  meet  them  right  away,"  he  called, 
over  his  shoulder,  and  when  he  looked  back  for  his 
answer,  she  nodded  brightly. 

But  as  she  turned  back  into  the  cottage  after  watch- 
ing him  swing  up  the  street  she  was  not  at  all  sure 
that  she  would  like  Helen  Rexhill. 


CHAPTER  V 

TREACHERY 

OVERJOYED  at  the  prospect  of  a  peaceful  solution 
of  the  problem  which  confronted  him,  Wade  walked 
rapidly  toward  the  hotel,  happy,  too,  in  the  thought 
of  meeting  Helen  Rexhill. 

Whether  he  loved  her  with  the  single-hearted  devo- 
tion which  a  man  should  feel  toward  his  future  wife, 
he  was  not  sure;  but  he  was  confident  that  he  did  not 
love  any  one  else.  The  idea  of  love  in  connection 
with  Dorothy  had  never  occurred  to  him ;  she  was  his 
good  friend,  nothing  more.  To  Helen,  belonged  the 
romance  of  his  life,  fostered  in  other  years  by  the  dis- 
tinct preference  she  had  shown  for  him.  At  one  time, 
they  had  been  reported  engaged,  and  although  the  word 
had  never  actually  passed  between  them,  many  things 
more  significant  than  speech  had  contributed  to  the 
warm  regard  which  they  felt  for  each  other.  Beneath 
Helen's  reputed  coldness  of  heart  lay  intense  feeling, 
and  on  numerous  occasions  she  had  verged  on  un- 
womanliness  in  baring  her  moods  to  Wade,  in  a  way 
that  many  other  men  would  have  been  quicker  to 
fathom,  and  perhaps  to  take  advantage  of,  than  he  had 
been. 

Now,  the  knowledge  that  she  was  close  at  hand, 
and  that  he  might  see  her  at  any  moment,  caused 
his  heart  to  beat  rapidly.  If  to  others  she  had  been 

57 


58  HIDDEN  GOLD 

cool,  to  him  she  had  been  ardent,  and  this  warmth 
had  been  the  one  thing  needful  to  make  her  physically 
captivating.  Only  when  some  vital  cause  impends 
is  a  young  man  likely  to  distinguish  between  the  im- 
pulses of  his  body  and  the  cravings  of  his  soul,  and 
no  such  vital  exigency  had  as  yet  appeared  in  Wade's 
life.  He  wondered  if  she  was  as  beautiful  as  ever, 
and  began  to  reproach  himself  for  lack  of  ardor  in 
his  recent  letters  to  her,  lest  he  should  now  be  repaid 
in  kind.  He  wanted  to  be  received  upon  the  old, 
delicious  footing,  with  her  in  his  arms,  and  her  lips 
trembling  beneath  his. 

There  were  dozens  of  men  in  Washington  and  New 
York  who  would  almost  have  bartered  their  souls 
for  such  privilege,  and  Gordon  Wade  need  not  be  de- 
cried for  his  moment  of  passionate  yearning.  He  was 
enough  of  a  man  to  put  the  thought  aside,  pending 
his  interview  with  the  Senator,  which  was  his  first 
purpose.  He  felt  sure  that  if  Senator  Rexhill  could 
be  moved  to  interest  in  Crawling  Water  affairs,  his 
influence  would  be  potent  enough  to  secure  redress  for 
the  cattle  men,  and  Wade  meant  to  pull  every  string 
that  could  bear  upon  so  happy  a  result.  He  was  glad 
that  Mrs.  Rexhill  had  not  made  the  journey,  for  he 
was  conscious  of  her  hostility  to  him,  and  he  felt  that 
his  chances  of  moving  her  husband  were  better  with- 
out her. 

When  he  inquired  at  the  hotel,  he  was  told  that  the 
Rexhills  were  in,  and  he  presently  found  himself  shak- 
ing hands  with  the  Senator,  who  greeted  him  with  ef- 
fusive warmth. 


TREACHERY  59 

"Helen  is  changing  her  gown  and  will  be  in  shortly," 
the  big  man  explained.  "I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you, 
Gordon.  Only  this  morning  we  were  talking  of  look- 
ing you  up.  How  are  you?  Sit  down,  my  boy,  sit 
down!" 

"Senator,"  Wade  began,  after  they  had  exchanged 
commonplaces  for  a  few  moments.  "Glad  as  I  am  to 
see  you,  on  my  own  account,  I  am  more  than  glad 
in  behalf  of  my  friends,  who  have  not  yet  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you.  Your  arrival  in  Crawling 
Water  could  not  possibly  have  been  more  opportune. 
You  have  come  just  in  time  to  save  us,  most  likely, 
from  an  internecine  strife  which  might  have  ruined  us 
all.  I  was  more  glad  than  I  can  tell  you  to  learn 
that  you  were  here." 

"Indeed,  Gordon?  I — I  am  much  interested.  Per- 
haps, you  will  .  .  ." 

While  Wade  succinctly  sketched  the  situation,  the 
Senator  nervously  toyed  with  his  eye-glasses,  now  and 
then  lifting  his  double  chin  from  the  confinement  of 
his  collar,  only  to  let  the  mass  of  flesh  settle  again  into 
inertness.  He  thought  rapidly.  Evidently,  Moran  had 
not  divulged  the  fact  that  he,  the  Senator,  was  con- 
cerned in  the  Crawling  Water  enterprise.  Certainly, 
Moran  had  done  very  well  in  that,  and  Rexhill  almost 
wished  now  that  he  had  been  less  precipitate  in  coming 
to  Crawling  Water.  If  he  had  stayed  in  the  East,  his 
complicity  in  the  affair  might  possibly  have  been  con- 
cealed to  the  very  end.  He  hastily  considered  the  ad- 
visability of  remaining  under  cover;  but  now  that  he 
was  on  the  ground  he  decided  that  he  had  better  be 


60  HIDDEN  GOLD 

open  and  above  board,  in  so  far  at  least  as  he  could 
be  so.  It  would  prove  awkward  in  the  event  of  sub- 
sequent investigation,  if  he  should  be  made  to  appear 
in  the  guise  of  a  deliberate  conspirator. 

So,  presently,  as  Wade  neared  the  end  of  his 
resume  of  the  situation,  Rexhill  permitted  an  oleagi- 
nous smile  to  overspread  his  countenance.  At  the  last, 
he  even  chuckled. 

"It's  really  a  bit  amusing.  No,  no,  not  what  you 
have  said,  my  boy;  but  what  I  am  about  to  say  to  you. 
You  invoke  my  influence  to  stop  these — er — depreda- 
tions, as  you  call  them,  and  up  to  a  certain  point,  you 
shall  have  my  aid,  because  I  seem  to  see  that  matters 
have  gone  a  bit  beyond  bounds.  But  when  you  ask 
me  to  go  to  extremes  myself,  why,  I'm  bound  to  tell 
you  that  I,  too,  have  interests  at  stake.  Why  do  you 
suppose  I  came  to  Crawling  Water?" 

"I'll  admit  that  puzzled  me." 

Rexhill  looked  keenly  at  Wade,  wondering  if  he  were 
foolish  enough  to  believe  the  trip  a  sentimental  jour- 
ney, purely.  He  concluded  that  the  young  ranchman 
had  too  much  sense  to  jump  at  such  a  conclusion. 

"Well,  the  reason  is  .  .  ."  The  Senator  leaned  pon- 
derously forward,  twiddling  his  glasses  upon  his  thumb. 
"The  reason  is  that  I,  if  you  please,  am  the  moving 
spirit  behind  the  company  which  Race  Moran  is  rep- 
resenting here.  You  see  .  .  ."  He  chuckled  plethori- 
cally again  at  Wade's  start  of  surprise.  "It  really  is  a 
bit  amusing." 

"Then  Moran  is  your  agent?" 

"In  a  sense,  yes." 


TREACHERY  61 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned !"  The  cattleman's  tone  was 
rich  in  disgust,  but  even  more  keen  was  his  intense 
disappointment  at  this  failure  of  his  hopes.  "Would 
you  mind  telling1  me,  Senator,  just  what  the  purpose 
of  your  company  is?" 

"Certainly  not.  It's  no  secret,"  Rexhill  replied 
briskly.  "Certain  parties  back  East,  myself  included, 
as  I've  told  you,  have  reason  to  believe  that  a  railroad 
will  be  put  through  this  valley  in  the  near  future. 
This  is  an  extremely  rich  and  productive  section,  with 
natural  resources  which  will  make  it  heard  from  some 
day,  so  we  are  anxious  to  obtain  a  portion  of  the  val- 
ley for  speculative  purposes.  If  the  railroad  comes 
through  we'll  probably  build  a  town  somewhere  nearby 
and  open  up  an  irrigation  project  we  have  in  mind. 
If  not,  we'll  use  our  holdings  to  raise  wheat  and 
livestock.  The  proposition  is  a  sound  investment 
either  way  you  look  at  it." 

"A  few  years  ago,"  said  Wade,  "I  and  several 
others  leased  upwards  of  twenty  thousand  acres  of 
grass  land  here  in  the  valley  for  stock  grazing  pur- 
poses. I,  personally,  filed  a  claim  on  the  land  I  now 
call  my  home  ranch.  Our  lease,  which  is  direct  from 
the  Government,  gives  us  entire  control  of  the  land 
so  long  as  we  pay  for  it. 

"Besides  ourselves,  there  are  a  number  of  ranches 
in  the  valley,  all  of  them  cattle  and  horse  outfits. 
There  has  always  been  a  tacit  agreement  that  sheep 
should  not  be  grazed  here  because  sheep  and  cattle  can't 
live  on  the  same  range  in  large  numbers.  Until  Moran 
came  here,  we  had  no  trouble  whatever — the  sheep 


62  HIDDEN  GOLD 

ranchers  kept  to  their  own  side  of  the  mountains  and 
we  cattle  men  kept  to  ours.  Since  Moran  has  ar- 
rived, however,  the  sheep  have  crossed  the  Divide 
in  thousands,  until  the  entire  valley  is  being  overrun 
with  them. 

"Only  this  morning,  Moran  admitted  to  me  that 
the  sheep  men  are  acting  with  his  authority  and  back- 
ing. Senator  Rexhill,  this  is  wrong,  and  your  agent, 
or  manager,  is  making  a  big  mistake.  Since  you  are 
the  prime  mover  in  this  matter,  your  arrival  is  even 
more  opportune  than  I  at  first  thought,  because  you 
have  the  power  to  immediately  correct  your  hired  man's 
mistake.  So  far  as  we  cattle  ranchers  can  learn, 
Moran  is  bringing  sheep  in  here  with  the  deliberate 
intention  of  starving  us  out  of  our  homes.  He  seems 
to  want  our  range  and  he — I'll  not  say  you — thinks 
that  such  a  course  is  the  cheapest  way  to  gain  pos- 
session. He'll  find  it  the  dearest  in  the  end.  Unless 
the  sheep  are  moved  mighty  soon,  we  shall  be  mixed 
up  in  one  of  the  bloodiest  little  wars  in  the  history 
of  the  range  country.  Mark  you,  I'm  no  firebrand, — 
some  call  me  too  conservative;  but  we  have  about 
reached  the  limit,  and  something  is  bound  to  happen 
before  many  days." 

Senator  Rexhill  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the 
table. 

"Um!  Does  Moran  know  of  this  attitude  in  you 
and  your  friends,  Gordon?" 

"Yes.  I  have  just  finished  telling  him  of  it.  But 
he  merely  laughs  at  us.  We  are  a  long  way  from 
the  courts  here,  Senator,  and  we  can't  easily  appeal 


TREACHERY  63 

to  the  authorities.  We  are  obliged  tc  settle  our  dif- 
ferences among  ourselves.  Moran  knows  this  as  well 
as  I  do;  but  he  forgets  that  the  thing  can  work 
two  ways.  Each  day  that  the  sheep  are  here  in  the 
valley  they  spoil  more  grass  than  all  our  cattle  could 
eat  in  a  week;  in  two  months,  if  the  sheep  stay,  the 
range  will  be  as  bare  as  a  ball-room  floor.  Can  you 
wonder  that  we  ranchers  are  becoming  desperate  ?" 

"It's  strange,"  Rexhill  commented,  apparently  much 
perturbed.  "Moran  is  not  the  sort  to  take  useless 
risks.  He's  dominant,  but  he's  no  fool.  Well,  my  boy, 
I'll  talk  this  over  with  him;  in  fact,  I  really  came 
out  here  to  see  how  things  were  shaping  up.  If  things 
can  be  peacefully  arranged,  that's  the  way  we  want 
them.  We're  not  looking  for  trouble.  Certainly, 
you  are  quite  right  to  object  to  sheep  being  run  on 
your  leased  pasture.  I'll  look  into  it  right  away  and 
see  what  can  be  done." 

"Thank  you."  Wade  was  much  relieved  and  he 
showed  it.  "I  felt  sure  that  an  appeal  to  your  sense 
of  fair  play  would  not  be  fruitless.  I'm  mighty  glad 
you  are  in  town." 

"Gordon!"  a  girl's  voice  exclaimed  softly  behind 
him. 

"Helen !"  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  turned  to  seize 
her  hands. 

Those  who  admired  Helen  Rexhill  at  Washington 
social  functions  never  saw  her  look  more  lovely  than 
she  did  at  this  moment  of  meeting  with  Wade,  for  the 
reason  that  all  the  skill  of  the  costumer  could  not  beau- 
tify her  so  much  as  the  radiance  of  love  now  in  her 


64  HIDDEN  GOLD 

face.  The  dress  she  wore  was  far  from  inexpensive, 
but  it  was  cut  with  the  art  which  conceals  art,  and 
to  Wade  it  appeared  simple. 

Yet  his  first  sensation  was  one  of  acute  disappoint- 
ment, which  he  strove  rather  ineffectually,  to  conceal. 
Doubtless,  this  was  because  his  recollection  of  her  had 
soared  beyond  the  bounds  of  human  perfection.  But 
the  gown,  which  she  had  chosen  with  so  keen  a  wish 
to  impress  him,  reminded  him  of  the  simple  frocks 
which  Dorothy  Purnell  wore,  and  in  Helen  Rexhill's 
face  there  was  not  the  same  sweet  simplicity  of  ex- 
pression which  distinguished  her  rival.  Flaming  love 
was  there,  to  transform  her  from  the  suggestion  of 
a  lily  to  that  of  a  pomegranate;  but  it  was  the  love 
that  demands  and  devours,  rather  than  the  constant 
affection  which,  in  giving  all,  seeks  nothing  but  the 
privilege  of  loving  in  return.  Without  actually  ana- 
lyzing the  impression  which  Helen  made  upon  him, 
Wade  felt  something  of  the  truth  of  this,  and  was 
disappointed  in  the  realization  of  his  dream  of  her. 
Materially  she  was  too  perfect,  too  exotic,  for  the 
setting  of  Crawling  Water. 

"Why,  you  look  just  the  same,"  she  happily  ex- 
claimed. "Arid  I?  Have  I  changed?  Now,  be  care- 
ful what  you  say !  You're  not  a  bit  of  a  courtier." 

"Everything  changes,  doesn't  it?"  he  said,  slowly 
feeling  his  way.  "Except  the  heart?"  His  answer 
pleased  her. 

"Will  you  listen  to  that,  Father?  In  the  cattle 
country,  too." 


TREACHERY  65 

"Very  pretty,"  the  Senator  observed  judicially.  "In- 
spired, perhaps." 

"How  long  are  you  going  to  stay?"  asked  Wade. 

Helen  laughed  happily. 

"Perhaps  that  will  depend  upon  how  glad  I  think 
you  are  to  have  us." 

She  gave  him  an  ardent  glance,  which  he  was  not 
proof  against,  nor  would  any  other  man  have  been 
so. 

"No  doubt  of  that."  He  laughed  with  her,  his  dis- 
appointment passing  before  the  old  love  spell,  which 
she  knew  so  well  how  to  cast  about  him.  "You 
couldn't  have  come  at  a  better  time,  either,  for  now 
there  is  some  one  here  who  can  be  company  for  you. 
That  is,"  he  added  lamely,  "when  you're  tired  of  hav- 
ing me  around." 

"Really?"  Helen  was  a  bit  chilled  by  this  obvi- 
ous faux  pas.  Truly,  despite  his  worth  as  a  man,  Gor- 
don Wade  was  no  courtier.  "Who  is  it?" 

"Of  course,  you  haven't  heard  of  her,  but  you'll  like 
her.  She's  Miss  Dorothy  Purnell.  Everybody  does 
like  her." 

Helen  affected  a  gayety  which  she  could  scarcely 
have  been  expected  to  feel.  Although  she  was  not 
socially  adept  in  concealing  her  real  feeling,  Wade 
saw  nothing  wrong.  Only  the  Senator  twisted  his 
mouth  in  a  grim  smile. 

"Oh,  but  I  have  heard  of  her;  indeed,  I  have. 
Mr.  Moran  sent  me  a  little  photograph  of  you  both 
on  horseback.  Just  see  how  her  fame  has  crossed  the 
continent.  I  shall  be  charmed  to  meet  her." 


66  HIDDEN  GOLD 

A  great  light  dawned  upon  Wade. 

"Then  that  was  what  he  wanted  with  the  picture," 
he  exclaimed.  "We  wondered  at  the  time.  I  thought 
it  pretty  impudent  of  him,  but,  of  course,  if  he  wanted 
it  just  to  send  to  you,  that  was  all  right." 

Miss  Rexhill  winced  inwardly.  In  spite  of  her- 
self, her  face  expressed  a  certain  amount  of  pique, 
for  the  implication  was  manifestly  that  if  Race  Moran 
had  wanted  the  picture  for  himself,  the  idea  would 
have  been  intolerable  to  Wade. 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  all  right.  You  seem  .  .  ."  She 
checked  herself,  with  the  reproach  upon  her  tongue, 
reflecting  that,  after  all,  she  was  most  fond  of  Wade 
because  of  his  naturalness.  Maxwell  Frayne,  for  in- 
stance, was  without  a  peer  in  spinning  graceful  phrases; 
but  he  spun  little  else. 

"But  I  don't  understand  why  he  should  send  it  to 
you,"  Wade  said,  in  a  low  tone,  as  the  Senator  turned 
to  bend  over  an  open  traveling  bag  on  a  nearby  chair. 
"Is  he — do  you — ?"  A  slight  rigor  of  jealousy  seemed 
to  seize  upon  him,  under  the  witchery  of  her  slow 
smile. 

"Oh,  he's  been  writing  to  me,  and  I  suppose  he 
thought  I'd  be  interested.  Of  course,  I  was."  She 
leaned  toward  him  a  trifle,  a  mere  swaying  of  her 
body,  like  a  lily  in  a  breeze,  and  impulsively  he  placed 
his  big  hand  over  hers. 

"He'd  better  not — he'd  better  mind  his  own  busi- 
ness!" he  said  grimly. 

She  laughed  softly,  tantalizingly,  and  being  human, 


TREACHERY  67 

Wade  kissed  her;  the  Senator  being  still  busy  with 
the  contents  of  the  bag. 

Thus  engaged,  none  of  them  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door,  which  finally  opened  before  Moran,  who,  even 
if  he  did  not  actually  see  the  kiss,  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  suspect  it  from  their  embarrassed  manner. 
Helen  felt  sure  from  his  annoyed  expression  that  he 
had  witnessed  the  caress,  and  she  was  rather  glad 
of  it. 

He  exchanged  a  slightly  stiff  greeting  with  the 
rancher,  and  then  while  Wade  and  Helen  continued 
their  talk,  the  agent  spoke  in  a  carefully  guarded  un- 
dertone with  his  employer.  The  news  he  brought, 
whatever  it  was,  seemed  significant,  for  the  Senator 
appeared  worried  and  presently  turned  to  Wade. 

"You'll  not  mind  if  I  go  over  to  the  office  with 
Moran,  Gordon?" 

"Certainly  not,  Senator.  Don't  let  me  interrupt 
you.  But  what's  the  use  of  us  staying  indoors,  Helen? 
The  sun  has  turned  now  and  it's  cooler  out.  I'll  show 
you  something  of  our  little  metropolis.  Or,  I  tell  you 
what  we'll  do!  Why  not  let  me  take  you  over  and 
introduce  you  to  the  only  woman  you're  likely  to  find 
congenial  in  this  neighborhood?  She'll  be  glad  to 
meet  you,  I  know." 

In  any  other  company,  Miss  Rexhill  would  prob- 
ably have  resented  an  invitation  to  call  upon  a  rival, 
even  apart  from  the  ethics  of  social  calls,  but  not 
before  Race  Moran.  Before  him,  she  would  not  hum- 
ble Wade  in  the  least  degree,  if  only  because  to  do. 


68  HIDDEN  GOLD 

so  would  reflect  upon  her  own  preference  between  the 
men.  She  could  only  pretend  to  welcome  the  prospect 
of  going  to  see  Miss  Purnell,  and  she  played  her  part 
well. 

"We  may  as  well  stay  here  now,"  Rexhill  said,  when 
the  two  young  people  had  left  the  room.  "When 
did  all  this  happen?" 

"I  just  got  word  of  it,"  Moran  answered,  a  bit  ex- 
citedly. "Don't  you  see  how  it  plays  right  into  our 
hands?  It's  the  greatest  thing  that  could  have  hap- 
•pened  for  us.  It  might  have  been  made  to  order." 

"Are  you  sure  it  wasn't?  Are  you  sure  you  didn't 
have  the  man  shot,  Race?"  Senator  Rexhill's  tone 
was  very  dry  and  he  watched  his  companion  keenly 
as  he  asked  the  question. 

Moran  assumed  an  attitude  of  indignation. 

"Why,  Senator  .  .  .    !" 

"Tush !  I  want  to  know  where  we  stand.  By  God, 
Race,  you  mustn't  go  too  far !  We're  traveling  mighty 
close  to  the  wind  as  it  is." 

"But  these  brawls  are  likely  to  happen  at  any  time. 
This  one  in  particular  has  been  brewing  for  weeks. 
Why  connect  me  with  it,  unnecessarily  ?" 

"All  right.  I  see  your  point,  of  course.  The  as- 
sassin is  unknown  ;suspicion  naturally  falls  upon  Wade, 
who  is  at  the  head  of  the  cattle  faction  and  who,  as 
you  say,  threatened  Jensen  only  this  morning.  If  we 
can  jail  him  for  awhile  his  party  is  likely  to  fall 
down." 

"Exactly!"  Moran  cried  eagerly.  "Fortune  has 
placed  him  right  in  our  hands." 


TREACHERY  69 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  have  him  arrested,"  Rex- 
hill  announced  doggedly,  "at  least,  not  on  any  trumped 
up  charge.  He's  broken  my  bread,  Helen  likes  him. 
We  call  him  a  friend,  in  fact.  I  always  play  square 
with  my  friends — as  far  as  possible.  Strategy  is 
strategy,  nobody  can  quarrel  with  that;  but  this  thing 
you  propose  is  something  more." 

Moran,  while  listening,  had  restrained  his  impa- 
tience with  difficulty.  He  not  only  had  reason  on  his 
side,  but  personal  hate  as  well.  His  sense  of  triumph 
in  bringing  the  news  to  Rexhill  had  not  been  for  their 
mutual  cause  alone;  it  had  seemed  to  Moran  to  point 
toward  the  end  of  his  rivalry  with  Wade  for  the 
love  of  Helen.  To  have  the  fruits  of  victory  snatched 
from  him,  because  of  a  sentiment  of  friendship,  was 
almost  more  than  the  agent  could  stand  for. 

"Good  God,  Senator,"  he  burst  out,  "don't  throw 
this  chance  away!  Think  what  it  means  to  us!  We 
are  running  close  to  the  wind,  and  until  this  mo- 
ment, it's  been  a  toss  up  whether  we'd  get  out  of 
here  with  our  lives;  whether  I  would,  at  any  rate. 
I've  run  a  mighty  big  bluff  on  these  cattle  people, 
but  I  did  it  because  it  was  the  only  way.  I've  held 
my  own  so  far,  but  when  they  find  out  that  it's  not 
farm  land  we're  after,  but  ore — why,  Senator,  there'll 
be  no  holding  them  at  all !  With  Wade  at  their  head 
and  forty  miles  between  us  and  the  cars,  where  would 
we  get  off?  We'd  be  lucky  if  we  didn't  swing  from 
the  limb  of  a  tree.  Do  you  suppose  Wade  would  re- 
member then  that  he'd  broken  your  bread?  I'll  bet 
dollars  to  doughnuts  he  wouldn't. 


70  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"But" — his  voice  sank  to  a  significant  whisper — "if 
we  land  him  in  jail  .  .  ." 

"His  friends  here  would  get  him  out,"  interposed 
the  Senator,  nervously  wiping  his  glasses. 

"Then  Uncle  Sam  would  put  him  in  again,  with  a 
troop  of  cavalry  to  keep  order  here,  and  that  would 
be  another  advantage  gained  for  our  side.  No,  sir, 
once  we  get  him  in  jail,  we've  got  the  law  with  us 
and  against  him,  don't  forget  that.  Then  the  cattle 
party  would  lay  mighty  low.  Wade  has  been  their 
leader  right  along.  I  tell  you,  it's  the  only  way,  and 
you  know  what  it  means  to  us — to  you." 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me  that,"  rasped  Rexhill. 
"If  we  fail  to  put  this  through,  I'm  a  ruined  man." 

Moran's  eyes  gleamed. 

"Well,  then,  it's  the  only  way,  unless — unless  .  .  ." 

"Unless  what?" 

"Unless  your  daughter  marries  him,  and  it  all  comes 
into  the  family."  Upon  that  point,  Moran  wished  to 
know  just  where  he  stood. 

"I've  never  made  a  dollar  through  my  daughter  yet, 
and  I  never  will,"  said  the  Senator  grimly.  "I'm  not 
selling  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  I'll  rot  in  the  poor- 
house  first." 

Moran  gently  breathed  his  relief.  He  would  have 
fought  to  the  fullest  extent  of  his  power  to  have 
aborted  such  a  marriage,  but  if  the  Senator  had  fa- 
vored it,  he  knew  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
prevent. 

"Wade  has  a  foreman  he's  mighty  fond  of,  an  old 


TREACHERY  71 

man  named  Santry,"  the  agent  remarked,  trying  an- 
other tack. 

"That's  a  horse  of  another  color."  Rexhill  ap- 
peared aroused,  at  last.  "I  remember  the  old  fellow. 
He  must  be  nearly  ready  for  the  bone  yard  by  this 
time  anyhow.  Saddle  it  on  him,  if  you  can.  Wade's 
devoted  to  him.  He'd  do  as  much  for  Santry  as  for 
himself,  maybe  more." 

"I've  heard  about  that  kind  of  devotion,"  the  agent 
sneered,  "but  I've  yet  to  see  a  sample  of  it." 

"Well,  you  may  before  long.  Your  first  proposi- 
tion's no  good  anyway.  It  would  simply  further  an- 
tagonize Wade's  friends.  It's  quite  possible,  though, 
that  Santry  might  have  been  mixed  up  in  such  a  brawl. 
Get  him  arrested,  and  then  we'll  let  Wade  know,  grad- 
ually, that  our  influence  is  at  his  command,  for  a 
price.  I've  no  objection  to  that — none  at  all.  By 
Heaven,  we've  got  to  do  something." 

"We'll  do  it  all  right.  I'll  have  a  warrant  sworn 
out." 

"Meanwhile,  Race,  go  easy  with  those  sheep.  Wade 
was  telling  me  about  them,  and  as  a  matter  of  strategy, 
I  had  to  pretend  that  I  would  help  him.  Move  them 
across  the  Divide  until  we  see  what  comes  of  this 
Santry  affair.  I  can't  go  too  heavy  with  the  boy 
right  at  the  start." 

"All  right."  Moran  arose.  "The  sheep  don't  count 
much  now  anyway." 

"I  don't  mind  saying,  Race,"  Senator  Rexhill  ob- 
served, a  trifle  pompously,  "that  you've  done  pretty 


72  HIDDEN  GOLD 

well  so  far.  If  you  stick  to  it,  you'll  not  find  me  un- 
grateful when  the  battle  is  over.  You'll  be  entitled  to 
your  reward." 

Moran  hesitated,  seeming  to  summon  courage  to 
say  something. 

"Maybe  you've  guessed  the  reward  I'll  ask,  Sen- 
ator," he  said  slowly.  "There  are  some  things  that 
mean  more  to  a  man  than  mere  money.  I'm  thinking 
of  Miss  Helen." 

Rexhill  found  some  difficulty  in  placing  his  gaze 
so  that  it  would  appear  to  naturally  fall  elsewhere 
than  on  Moran.  He  was  mortified  by  a  sense  of  shame 
that  he  could  not  deal  squarely  with  this  aspirant  for 
his  daughter's  hand.  He  had  been  sincere  in  saying 
that  he  would  never  barter  her  to  further  his  own  in- 
terests, but  so  much  hung  in  the  balance  here  that 
until  the  issue  really  arose  he  feared  to  pass  upon  it. 
He  felt  himself  stultified  by  this  truth. 

"I  haven't  spoken  to  her,  Senator,  because  the  time 
has  not  come,  and  just  now  she's  too  much  occupied 
elsewhere,  perhaps.  But  all  my  hopes  are  fixed  on  her, 
sir,  and  when  the  time  does  come,  I  trust  you'll  not 
oppose  them." 

Rexhill  coughed  to  hide  what  his  face  might  other- 
wise have  shown. 

"Well,  Race,"  he  said,  with  a  choking  sensation  that 
was  new  to  him,  "you  know  what  I  think  of  you.  As 
for  the  rest,  well,  that  will  depend  entirely  upon 
Helen." 


CHAPTER  VI 

MURDER 

"How  do  you  think  you'd  like  to  live  in  Crawling- 
Water?" 

Wade  looked  whimsically  at  Helen,  as  she  picked 
her  way  with  the  grace  of  a  kitten  through  the  dust 
of  the  main  street.  Carefully  though  she  walked,  her 
shoes  and  the  bottom  of  her  skirt  were  covered  with 
dust,  and  gray  with  it. 

"I  shouldn't  like  it,"  she  said,  with  a  little  moue. 
"I  don't  see  why  you  stay  here.  You  aren't  going  to 
always,  are  you?" 

"I  reckon  it's  likely." 

"Not — for  always?"  She  had  stopped  and  was 
looking  up  into  his  face  with  delicious  dismay.  "That 
would  be  awful." 

"Most  of  my  friends,  and  all  of  my  business  inter- 
ests are  here.  Besides,  I  have  a  kind  of  pride  in 
growing  up  with  this  country.  Back  in  the  East, 
things  have  been  settled  for  so  long  that  a  man's  only 
a  cog  in  a  machine.  Out  here,  a  fellow  has  a  sense 
of  ownership,  even  in  the  hills.  I  think  it's  because 
he  gets  closer  to  the  soil,  until  he  comes  to  love  it 
and  to  be  almost  a  part  of  it." 

"Oh,  dear!"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "That  sounds  fine, 
but  the  reality  isn't  up  to  my  anticipation  of  it." 

73 


74  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Wade  laughed  in  his  hearty  way. 

"That's  only  because  you  haven't  been  here  long 
enough,  Helen." 

"There  are  things  that  are  splendid  about  the  West," 
she  generously  admitted.  "Its  vastness  and  whole- 
someness,  and  especially  its  men.  I'm  sure  that's  why 
I  first  liked  you,  Gordon,  because  you  were  different 
— not  like  the  general  run  of  young  men  in  the  East." 

"Oh,  there  are  lots  of  good  men  East,  too." 

"Not  so  very  many.  At  least,  I  have  seen  very  few 
who  were  at  all  worth  while.  There's  one,  Maxwell 
Frayne,  who  has  been  plaguing  me  for  months;  but 
I  don't  care  for  him — much."  She  was  closely  watch- 
ing him  as  she  spoke,  and  she  smiled  when  he  started. 

"You'd  better  not." 

"But  if  I  really  thought  you  meant  to  stay  here 
all  the  time,  I'm  sure  I'd  love  him  devotedly.  Now" — 
she  eyed  him  mischievously — "I  think  this  would  be 
a  nice  place  to  call  home,  don't  you  know,  just  for 
fun,  and  then  spend  most  of  the  time  in  New  York 
and  London.  See  that  man  staring  at  me!" 

"How,  staring  at  you?" 

Wade  turned  and  looked  in  the  direction  she  indi- 
cated, surprised  at  the  suggestion  that  she  was  being 
annoyed  in  Crawling  Water,  where  chivalry  to  women 
ran  high. 

"Oh,  he  didn't  mean  anything,  I  daresay." 

"They're  friends  of  mine,  and  curious,  perhaps." 
He  referred  to  a  group  of  cattle  men.  across  the  street, 
who  did  seem  to  be  staring  and  talking,  with  some 
indecision  in  their  attitude.  "I  wonder  if  anything 


MURDER  75 

can  have  happened?  Oh,  I  guess  not.  Well,  what 
would  I  do  in  London?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything  about  you  being  in  London, 
did  I?" 

"Well,  it's  safe  to  say  that  where  you  were,  I'd 
want  to  be,  at  any  rate.  Haven't  I  made  two  trips 
to  Chicago  for  no  real  reason  except  to  see  you?" 
he  demanded,  fast  slipping  into  the  thralldom  of  her 
fascination. 

She  viewed  him  through  half -closed  eyes,  knowing 
that  the  pose  has  always  allured  him. 

"Don't  you  think  you'd  be  kept  busy  looking  after 
me?"  she  playfully  asked.  "Seriously,  I  hate  an  idle 
man,  but  I  don't  know  what  you'd  find  to  do  there. 
What  a  question.  You'd  have  to  have  investments 
that  would  take  you  over  every  year  or  two." 

"Now  you're  trying  to  make  a  city  man  of  me," 
he  said,  half  in  jest.  "Besides," — a  dogged  note  crept 
into  his  voice — "I'd  have  the  right  to  expect  some- 
thing of  you,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Not  the  right,  but  the  privilege,"  she  answered 
softly. 

"This  is  where  the  Purnells  live."  He  turned  her 
into  the  pathway  to  the  door.  "This  is  what  I'd  like, 
a  neat  little  home  like  this,  with  a  couple  of  kiddies 
and  some  dogs.  Then  I  could  spend  my  out-door  time 
at  the  ranch." 

Before  Helen  could  reply  to  this,  Mrs.  Purnell  ap- 
peared on  the  threshold  to  welcome  them,  but  to 
Wade's  surprise,  she  told  them  that  Dorothy  was  not 
there. 


76  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Oh,  Fm  so  sorry,"  said  Helen,  with  intense  relief. 

"I  don't  know  where  she  went  either,"  the  mother 
went  on.  "She  was  out  for  a  few  minutes  soon  after 
you  left,  Gordon.  Then  she  came  back  and  called  out 
something  to  me,  but  I  didix't  catch  what  she  said.  Be- 
fore I  knew  what  she  was  doing  she  had  saddled 
her  pony  and  ridden  off.  But  come  right  in.  I  don't 
think  she'll  be  gone  long." 

They  entered  and  Helen,  graciously  choosing  to 
overlook  the  fact  that  this  was  evidently  Wade's  sec- 
ond visit  there  within  a  very  short  time,  sought  to 
impress  him  with  her  tactfulness  to  Mrs.  Purnell.  She 
would  have  been  amazed  could  she  have  guessed  that 
she  was  actually  arousing  him  to  resentment.  He  felt, 
somehow,  that  she  was  patronizing  their  hostess,  who 
was  a  woman  of  refinement,  even  if  she  lacked  the 
artificiality  of  manner  that  Helen  affected.  He  was 
sincerely  glad  when  the  visit  came  to  an  end. 

"You  must  come  again,"  said  Mrs.  Purnell,  in  a 
spirit  of  friendliness. 

"So  glad  to  have  met  you,"  Helen  replied.  "I  hope 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your  daughter,  too, 
before  we  leave  Crawling  Water." 

"They're  splendid  women,  both  of  them,"  Wade  re- 
marked, as  they  walked  back  toward  the  center  of 
the  town. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Helen  agreed,  without  much  spirit. 
"Nice,  comfortable  home  people,  I  suppose." 

"Best  kind  in  the  world." 

"Gordon!"  Helen  laughed  good-naturedly,  facing 
him  as  she  walked.  "W'hat  in  the  world  has  been 


MURDER  77 

the  matter  with  you  to-day?  We  usually  get  on  so 
well  together,  and  to-day,  if  I  do  say  it,  only  my  un- 
willingness to  quarrel  has  kept  us  from  it." 

"Oh,  no !"  He  smiled,  too.  "Maybe  that  New  York 
and  London  business  rubbed  me  the  wrong  way ;  that's 
all.  I  have  plenty  of  faults,  but  I'm  loyal  to  my  friends. 
I  don't  like  even  hints  that  they  aren't  the  best  friends 
a  man  could  have." 

"Surely,  I  haven't  .  .  ." 

"Maybe  not.  Maybe  I  imagined  it.  But  Crawling 
Water  is  a  lot  more  real  than  London,  to  my  way  of 
thinking." 

"You  haven't  been  to  London." 

"I'm  not  likely  to  go,  either,"  he  retorted. 

Her  red  lips  curled  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  indi- 
cate that  she  thought  he  would  go.  Already,  she  was 
planning  to  get  him  out  of  Crawling  Water  and  be- 
yond the  influence  of  Dorothy  Purnell. 

As  they  turned  into  the  main  street  again,  a  man 
leaving  a  group  near  the  livery  stable,  and  mounting 
a  horse,  rode  toward  them. 

"I  wonder  what's  up  now  ?"  Wade  muttered,  recog- 
nizing the  horseman  as  one  of  the  Trowbridge  outfit. 

"Mr.  Wade.  Just  a  minute."  With  the  grace  of 
a  Centaur,  the  rider  swung  his  mount  in  beside  them 
and  doffed  his  hat.  "Two  of  Jensen's  herders  have 
been  shot.  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  about  it." 

"What?"  The  ranch  owner's  jaw  dropped  at  the 
news. 

"It's  true,  sir.     Word  just  came  in." 

"Thanks,  Barker."     Wade  pulled  himself  together, 


78  HIDDEN  GOLD 

as  the  restless  pony  raced  back  to  the  barn.  "I  must 
go,  Helen,"  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  girl  at  his 
side.  "There's  been  fighting — murder,  perhaps — out 
near  the  ranch.  Santry  will  need  me."  He  was  un- 
easy lest  the  old  plainsman  should  have  been  concerned 
in  the  shooting. 

"You'll  take  me  to  the  hotel?" 

"Of  course,  yes!  Would  you  mind  walking  a  little 
faster?"  They  quickened  their  pace.  "I'm  sorry, 
Helen ;  but  I  must  hurry  to  the  ranch."  Even  at  that 
moment  he  could  not  but  reflect  that  there  would  have 
been  no  need  to  take  Dorothy  home.  Somehow,  the 
ways  of  the  East  seemed  to  fit  less  and  less  aptly  into 
the  life  of  Crawling  Water. 

On  his  way  to  the  livery  stable  after  his  horse,  Wade 
did  some  rapid  thinking.  Santry  might  have  been 
concerned  in  the  shooting,  but  his  employer  thought 
not.  The  old  fellow  had  promised  to  stay  at  home, 
and  his  word  was  as  good  as  another  man's  bond. 
It  was  too  bad,  certainly,  that  the  thing  should  have 
happened  just  when  Senator  Rexhill's  promised  aid 
had  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  settle  the  controversy. 
Now,  the  whole  thing  was  more  upset  than  ever,  for 
Moran  and  Rexhill  could  hardly  be  blamed  if  they 
backed  up  their  own  men,  especially  if  the  herders 
had  been  blameless,  as  was  probably  the  case.  Yet 
if  the  Senator  did  this,  Wade  knew  that  a  bloody 
little  war  would  be  the  outcome. 

"Where's  Trowbridge,  Barker?"  he  asked  of  the 
cowpuncher,  whom  he  found  waiting  at  the  stable. 

"At  the  ranch,  I  think." 


MURDER  79 

Wade  nodded.  Ten  minutes  later  he  was  in  the 
saddle  and  headed  for  the  mountains,  just  as  dusk 
began  to  fall.  The  cool  night  air,  blowing  against  his 
face  as  he  reached  the  higher  levels,  was  delightfully 
refreshing  after  the  heat  of  the  day.  He  took  off  his 
hat  and  opened  the  neck  of  his  shirt  to  the  breeze,  which 
revived  his  energies  like  wine.  He  knew  that  as  he 
felt,  so  his  horse  felt,  and  he  was  glad,  for  the  animal 
would  have  to  make  a  fast,  hard  trip.  At  the  crest 
of  the  first  hills,  before  dipping  into  the  valley,  he 
turned  for  an  instant  in  his  saddle  to  look  backward 
over  his  trail  toward  the  twinkling  lights  of  Crawling 
Water  in  the  distance  below. 

He  had  covered  some  five  miles  of  his  journey,  to 
no  other  sound  than  the  occasional  note  of  some 
bird,  when  his  quick  ears  caught  the  thud  of  a  horse's 
feet  on  the  trail  ahead,  with  now  and  then  a  sharp 
clatter  as  the  animal  slipped  on  the  stones.  Wade 
slowed  his  own  horse  down  to  a  walk,  and  eased  his 
Colt  in  its  holster.  He  expected  to  meet  some  harm- 
less wayfarer,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  just 
as  well  to  be  prepared  for  trouble.  Soon,  however, 
he  smiled  to  himself,  for  whoever  rode  toward  him 
made  too  much  noise  for  any  but  a  peaceful  mission. 
The  other  horse,  too,  had  been  slowed  down  and  the 
two  riders  approached  each  other  with  such  caution 
that  the  rancher  finally  became  impatient  and  pressed 
forward  recklessly. 

Out  of  the  night  the  stranger  came  on,  still  slowly, 
until  a  turn  in  the  trail  brought  them  face  to  face. 


80  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Don't  shoot!"  said  a  woman's  contralto.  "I'm  a 
friend." 

"Dorothy!"  Wade  ejaculated,  at  once  recognizing 
the  voice,  although  he  could  not  see  the  girl  distinctly 
in  the  darkness.  "In  Heaven's  name,  what  are  you 
doing  out  here?" 

"Is  it  you,  Gordon?"  In  her  relief,  she  laughed 
softly  as  she  pulled  her  pony  up  side  of  him.  "I  was 
a  little  scared  for  a  second  or  two.  I've  awfully  bad 
news,  I'm  afraid,"  she  added,  immediately  serious. 
"I've  been  trying  to  find  you.  I  went  to  the  hotel 
and  they  told  me  you'd  gone  somewhere." 

"Miss  Rexhill  and  I  went  to  call  on  you." 

"You  did?  If  I'd  only  known.  I've  been  clear  out 
to  the  ranch." 

"Is  Santry  there?"  In  his  anxiety  he  forgot  momen- 
tarily the  loneliness  of  her  long  ride.  "They  say  some 
of  Jensen's  men  have  been  shot  up;  and  I'm  anxious 
to  find  out  what  Bill  knows." 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  tell  you.  I  heard  of 
the  shooting  before  I  left  town.  Whoa,  Gypsy !"  She 
reined  up  her  pony,  nervously,  for  it  would  not  stand 
still.  Wade  seized  the  animal's  bridle  and  quieted  it. 
"I  don't  know  if  he's  there  or  not,"  the  girl  went  on. 
"I  couldn't  see.  The  ranch  house  is  full  of  men." 

"Men?    What  men?"  Wade  demanded  sharply. 

"Race  Moran's  crowd.  They  went  out  to  arrest 
Santry.  The  Sheriff  is  with  them.  I  heard  part  of 
it  in  town,  and  that's  why  I  tried  to  find  you."  Wade 
groaned.  "I  peeped  in  at  a  window,  and  when  I  could 


MURDER  81 

see  neither  you  nor  Santry  I  slipped  away  without 
being  seen  and  took  the  old  trail  back  because  it  was 
shorter." 

"Lord,  what  a  mess!"  Wade  ground  his  teeth 
savagely.  "Poor  old  Bill  was  all  alone  there  and  they 
must  have  surprised  him.  But  I  don't  see  why  Barker 
didn't  mention  the  posse  when  he  told  me  of  the  shoot- 
ing?" 

"He  didn't  know  of  it,  probably.  They  left  town 
very  quietly.  I  happened  to  be  out  back  of  the  house 
and  I  heard  one  of  them  talking  as  they  rode  by." 

"Good  Lord!"  Wade's  head  drooped.  "I  told  Bill 
to  stay  at  the  ranch,  and  he  promised  me  .  .  ." 

"I  don't  believe  he  shot  Jensen  at  all,"  Dorothy  de- 
clared, with  spirit.  "Yes,  it  was  Jensen  himself  and 
one  of  his  herders.  Both  in  the  back — killed." 

"Bill  Santry  never  shot  any  man  in  the  back,"  Wade 
declared,  in  a  relieved  tone.  "If  you're  sure  of  the 
facts,  Santry  will  come  clear  all  right." 

"It's  just  a  devilish  scheme  of  Moran's,  that's  all, 
to  put  it  on  you  and  Santry.  I'm  sure  it  is.  He  hates 
you  both.  Whoa,  Gypsy!"  She  reined  the  little  mare 
in  again.  "No,  it's  all  right,  Gordon.  I  can  manage 
her,"  she  remonstrated,  as  he  reached  for  the  bridle 
once  more. 

"So  that's  their  game,  eh?  By  Heaven,  I  more 
than  half  believe  you're  right."  His  face  grew  ugly 
with  rage.  "Dorothy,"  he  continued  grimly,  "thanks 
are  useless.  You're  a  brick,  that's  all.  Do  one  thing 
more  for  us,  will  you?" 


82  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Anything,"  she  replied  simply,  her  eyes  shining 
with  devotion  to  him,  but  he  was  too  overwrought  to 
read  them  in  the  darkness. 

"When  you  get  back  to  town  get  word  to  some  of 
the  men  for  me.  You  may  meet  them  on  the  way 
out,  if  not  they'll  be  around  the  barn.  Tell  them  to 
meet  me  at  the  big  pine,  on  the  old  trail." 

His  horse  had  grown  restless  and  now  he  allowed 
it  to  have  its  head;  he  was  moving  past  her  when 
she  clutched  his  arm. 

"Gordon!" 

She  loved  him  dearly,  too  dearly  to  let  him  know 
how  well  until  he  should  speak,  if  he  ever  did  speak; 
but  above  them  was  the  starlit  sky  and  over  them 
hovered  the  wondrous  spirit  of  the  Western  night. 
Her  pulse  was  beating,  too,  to  the  call  of  danger,  and 
despite  the  control  which  she  had  over  her  nerves, 
she  was  just  a  bit  hysterical  beneath  the  surface.  She 
knew  that  ahead  of  him  was  a  little  army  of  hostile 
men,  and  already  that  day  two  men  had  been  killed. 
So,  tremulously,  she  held  on  to  his  sleeve,  until  she 
stopped  him. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  You  can't  do  anything 
alone  against  so  many.  They  may  kill  you." 

Her  sympathy  was  very  sweet  to  him  and  he  warmly 
squeezed  the  little  hand  which  had  held  him  back. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid,  little  gin,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"I  shall  not  get  hurt  if  I  can  help  it." 

"Wait  until  the  others  come,  won't  you  ?" 

"Surely,"  he  answered  readily,  touched  by  the 
anxiety  in  her  voice.  "I'm  going  to  look  around — just 


MURDER  83 

as  you  did — on  the  quiet.  You  wouldn't  hold  me  back, 
where  you  went  in,  now  would  you?" 

"No—!"    She  smiled  a  little  into  his  face. 

"That's  the  stuff!  Then  I'm  coming  back  to  the  big 
pine,  and  you'll  send  the  boys  there.  They'll  not  put 
Santry  in  jail  if  we  can  prevent  them.  They've  played 
their  last  card  to-night.  It's  war  from  now  on." 

"All  right,  Gordon,  I'll  go."  Her  voice  was  full  of 
courage  again;  the  moment  of  weakness  had  passed. 
"Remember  now,  take  good  care  of  yourself." 

"You  bet,"  he  retorted  cheerily,  and  as  her  mare 
moved  ahead,  he  caught  her  arm  as  she  had  caught 
his.  She  went  quite  limp  in  her  saddle  and  swayed 
toward  him,  but  he  merely  added :  "You're  a  wonder, 
Dorothy." 

He  released  her  then,  and  with  a  wave  of  her  hand 
she  disappeared  into  the  night.  Not  until  she  was 
beyond  recall  did  he  realize  that  he  might  have  kissed 
her;  that  she  had  wanted  him  to  kiss  her,  for  the  first 
time  since  they  had  known  each  other.  He  sat  in 
abstraction  for  several  moments  before  he  shook  the 
reins  in  his  hand  and  his  horse  sprang  forward. 

"I've  kissed  one  girl  to-day,"  he  muttered  aloud, 
"and  I  reckon  that's  enough." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   OLD   TRAIL 

FOR  another  mile  Wade  followed  the  main  road  and 
then  diverged  sharply  to  the  left  into  what  was  known 
as  the  old,  or  upper,  trail.  This  had  formerly  been 
the  valley  road  until  made  dangerous  by  a  wash-out 
a  year  or  two  previous.  In  the  following  spring  the 
wash-out  had  been  partially  repaired,  but  the  going  was 
still  so  rough  that  the  new  road  was  widened,  and 
had  been  used  by  preference  ever  since.  The  old  trail, 
however,  was  nearly  four  miles  the  shorter  of  the 
two,  and  was  still  traveled  in  cases  of  emergency,  al- 
though to  do  so  at  speed  and  in  the  dark  was  hazardous. 

Wade's  promise  to  Dorothy  to  take  good  care  of 
himself  had  been  made  with  mental  reservation,  for, 
obsessed  by  his  anxiety  over  Santry,  the  young  ranch- 
man was  in  no  mood  to  spare  either  himself  or  his 
horse.  His  going  was  marked  by  a  constant  shower 
of  stones,  sometimes  behind  him,  as  the  wiry  cayuse 
climbed  like  a  mountain  goat;  but  as  often  in  front, 
as  horse  and  rider  coasted  perilously  down  some  de- 
clivity. The  horse  sweated  and  trembled  with  nervous- 
ness, as  a  frightened  child  might,  but  never  refused 
to  attempt  what  its  master  demanded  of  it.  One  might 
almost  say  that  there  existed  a  human  understanding 
between  man  and  beast  as  to  the  importance  of  their 

84 


THE  OLD  TRAIL  85 

errand ;  a  common  impulse,  which  urged  them  onward. 

When  Wade  reflected  that  Dorothy,  too,  had  come 
over  that  trail  by  night  in  his  interest,  he  thought  her 
more  than  ever  a  wonderful  girl.  Even  to  one  born 
and  raised  in  the  cattle  country,  the  trip  would  have 
been  difficult ;  but  then  he  realized  that  Dorothy  seemed 
much  like  a  ranch-bred  girl  in  her  courage  and  frank 
womanliness,  nor  was  she  any  less  charming  on  that 
account.  After  all,  he  thought,  women  paid  too  highly 
for  little  accomplishments,  if  to  gain  them  they  had 
to  sacrifice  the  vital  points  of  character.  He  could  not 
help  but  contrast  Helen's  insistence  that  she  should 
be  escorted  back  to  the  hotel  with  Dorothy's  brave  ride 
alone,  and  while  he  was  too  loyal  to  Helen  Rexhill 
to  blame  her  in  this  respect,  the  thing  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  him. 

The  way  was  long,  and  he  had  time  for  many 
thoughts.  It  was  natural,  in  the  still  night,  with  Dor- 
othy only  a  little  while  gone,  that  he  should  think 
tenderly  of  her,  for  this  cost  Santry  nothing.  For  San- 
try,  Wade  was  reserving  not  thought  but  action.  He 
was  making  up  his  mind  that  if  Moran  had  taken  the 
foreman  into  custody  on  a  trumped  up  charge  of  mur- 
der, the  agent  should  feel  the  power  of  a  greater 
tribunal  than  any  court  in  the  locality — the  law  of  the 
Strong  Arm !  Behind  him  in  this,  the  ranchman  knew, 
was  the  whole  of  the  cattle  faction,  and  since  war  had 
been  thrust  upon  them  he  would  not  stop  until  the 
end  came,  whatever  it  might  be.  His  conscience  was 
clean,  for  he  had  exerted  himself  manfully  in  the  cause 
of  peace,  even  to  the  point  where  his  own  character  had 


86  HIDDEN  GOLD 

suffered,  and  now  the  hour  of  reprisal  was  at  hand. 

He  rode,  at  last,  over  the  top  of  the  Divide  and 
into  the  little  draw  that  led  up  to  the  ranch  buildings, 
in  the  windows  of  which  lights  gleamed.  With  an 
imprecation  at  sight  of  them,  he  tied  his  horse  to  a 
post,  and,  revolver  in  hand,  crept  toward  the  house 
as  quietly  as  a  Sioux. 

Except  for  the  light,  there  was  no  sign  of  life  about 
the  place,  and  Wade  craftily  advanced  into  the  deeper 
shadows  close  to  the  wall  of  the  house.  Taking  off  his 
hat,  so  that  the  crown  might  not  betray  him,  he  peeped 
through  a  window.  What  he  saw  made  him  clinch 
his  fingers  and  grit  his  teeth  in  rage. 

Inside  were  half  a  dozen  men,  besides  three  of  his 
own  ranch  hands  who  lay  trussed  up  like  turkeys  in 
one  corner  of  the  room;  doubtless  they  had  been  sur- 
prised by  the  posse  before  they  had  opportunity  to  run 
or  put  up  a  fight.  Moran  was  there,  stretched  com- 
fortably on  Wade's  own  cot,  smoking  a  cigar.  Once, 
he  looked  directly  toward  the  window  at  which  the 
watcher  had  placed  himself,  but  the  latter  did  not  move. 
Instead,  he  fingered  his  gun  and  waited;  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  really  wanted  to  avoid  detection;  if  it 
came,  Moran  would  pay,  and  the  rest,  at  the  moment, 
did  not  seem  to  matter.  He  had  forgotten  Dorothy 
entirely. 

But  Santry  was  not  there  and  this  fact  puzzled 
Wade.  The  Sheriff  was  not  there  either,  and  pres- 
ently it  occurred  to  the  cattleman  that  a  part  of  the 
posse,  with  Santry,  might  have  returned  to  Crawling 
Water  over  the  main  trail.  Probably  Moran,  with 


THE  OLD  TRAIL  87 

the  rest,  was  waiting  for  him.  The  mere  thought  of 
Santry  already  on  his  way  to  jail  filled  Wade  with  a 
baffling  sense  of  rage,  and  creeping  from  the  house, 
he  examined  the  surrounding  turf  by  the  faint  rays 
of  the  moon.  It  was  badly  cut  up  by  the  feet  of  many 
horses,  and  several  minutes  passed  before  Wade  was 
really  sure  that  a  number  of  mounted  men  had  taken 
the  trail  back  to  town.  Satisfied  of  this  at  length, 
he  untied  his  horse  and  swung  into  the  saddle. 

Before  riding  away  he  considered  the  advisability 
of  driving  off  the  horses  belonging  to  Moran's  party, 
but  there  would  still  be  others  in  the  corral,  and  be- 
sides their  absence,  when  discovered,  would  give  warn- 
ing of  the  impending  attack.  On  second  thought,  how- 
ever, he  quietly  made  his  way  to  the  corral  and  caught 
a  fresh  horse  of  his  own.  When  he  had  saddled  it 
he  set  out  over  the  old  trail  for  the  big  pine. 

When  he  reached  the  rendezvous  his  men  were  not 
there;  but  knowing  that  he  must  meet  them  if  he  fol- 
lowed the  road  from  there  on  he  did  not  stop.  He 
came  upon  them  in  a  few  minutes,  riding  toward  him 
at  full  speed,  with  Tim  Sullivan  in  the  van,  too  drunk 
to  stand  erect,  but  able  to  balance  himself  on  a  horse's 
back,  drunk  or  sober. 

"We  come  acrost  Santry  and  the  Sheriff  a  while 
back,"  explained  Big  Bob  Lawson,  one  of  Wade's  own 
punchers.  "They  must  be  in  town  by  now.  We  was 
aimin'  to  light  into  'em,  but  Santry  wouldn't  hear  of 
it.  Course,  we  took  our  orders  from  him  same  as 
usual.  He  said  to  tell  you  that  you  wanted  him  to 
keep  quiet,  an'  that's  what  he  aimed  to  do." 


88  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"He  said  we  wasn't  to  tell  you  that  he  didn't  shoot 
them  Swedes,"  put  in  another  of  the  men. 

"What?"  Wade  demanded  sharply. 

"He  said — hie!"  broke  in  Tim  Sullivan,  with 
drunken  gravity.  "He  said — hie! — that  if  you  didn't 
know  that  without — hie! — bein'  told,  you  wasn't  no 
friend  of  his'n,  an'-^hic! — you  could  go  to  hell." 

"Shut  up,  you  drunken  fool !"  Lawson  snapped  out. 

"Jensen  and  his  herder  were  shot  in  the  back,  they 
say.  That  clears  Santry,"  Wade  declared,  and  sat 
for  some  moments  in  deep  thought,  while  the  men 
waited  as  patiently  as  they  could.  "Lawson,"  he  said, 
at  last.  "You're  in  charge  for  the  present.  Take  the 
boys  to  the  big  pine  and  camp  there  quietly  until 
I  come  back.  I'm  going  into  town." 

"Hadn't  you  better  take  us  with  you,  boss?  We'll 
stick.  We're  for  you  an'  Bill  Santry  an'  ag'in'  these 
— sheepherders,  whenever  you  say  the  word." 

"That's — hie — what  we  are!"  Sullivan  hiccoughed. 

Wade  shook  his  head. 

"No.  You  wait  for  me  at  the  pine.  You'll  have  to 
rustle  your  grub  the  best  way  you  can.  I  may  not 
get  back  until  to-morrow — until  this  evening — it's 
morning  now.  But  wait  until  I  come.  There  will  be 
plenty  for  you  to  do  later  on  and  there  is  no  use  of 
you  going  back  to  town  with  me.  It  might  get  you 
into  worse  trouble  than  you're  headed  for  already,  and 
what  I've  got  to  do,  I  can  do  alone." 

Wheeling  his  horse,  he  rode  off  toward  Crawling 
Water. 

That  he  could  take  his  men  with  him,  storm  the  jail 


THE  OLD  TRAIL  89 

and  release  Santry,  Wade  did  not  doubt,  but  to  do 
so  would  be  to  bring  each  of  the  men  into  open  con- 
flict with  the  law,  a  responsibility  which  he  was  re- 
solved to  bear  alone.  Then,  too,  because  his  long  ride 
had  cooled  him  somewhat,  he  intended  to  make  one 
more  appeal  to  the  Senator.  Possibly,  Moran  had  ex- 
ceeded his  instructions,  and  if  this  were  so,  it  was  no 
more  than  just  that  Rexhill,  who  had  seemed  to  evince 
a  willingness  to  be  helpful,  should  have  the  opportunity 
to  disown  the  act  of  his  agent.  Besides,  if  Santry 
could  be  peaceably  released,  he  would  be  freed  of  the 
charge  hanging  over  him,  which  would  not  be  the 
case  if  he  were  taken  from  the  jail  by  strategy  or 
violence. 

With  haggard  countenance  and  inflamed  eyes,  Wade 
bore  little  resemblance  to  his  normal  self  when  he  again 
appeared  before  the  Senator,  who  received  him  in  his 
dressing-gown,  being  just  out  of  bed.  Rexhill  listened 
with  a  show  of  sympathy  to  the  cattleman's  story,  but 
evidently  he  was  in  a  different  mood  from  the  day 
before. 

"My  boy,  your  friendship  for  your  foreman  is  lead- 
ing you  astray.  Your  faith  in  him,  which  is  natural 
and  does  you  credit,  is  blinding  you  to  an  impartial 
view  of  the  case.  Why  not  let  the  law  take  its  course  ? 
If  Santry  is  innocent  his  trial  will  prove  it.  At  any 
rate,  what  can  I  do?" 

"Senator — "  Wade  spoke  with  intense  weariness. 
"Only  yesterday  you  offered  to  help  us.  The  situation, 
as  I  explained  it  then,  is  unchanged  now,  except  for 


90  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  worse.  Bill  Santry  is  free  of  any  complicity  in 
Jensen's  death.  I  am  positive  of  it.  He  sent  me  word 
that  he  had  not  left  the  ranch,  and  he  would  not  lie 
to  save  himself  from  hanging.  Besides,  the  men  were 
shot  in  the  back,  and  that  is  absolute  proof  that  Santry 
didn't  do  it." 

"Mere  sentiment,  Gordon;  mere  sentiment.  Proof? 
Pooh!" 

Rexhill's  slightly  contemptuous  tone  worked  upon 
Wade  in  his  exhausted,  overwrought  condition,  and 
stung  him.  A  strange  look  of  cunning  appeared  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  leaned  across  the  table  which  separated 
them. 

"Senator,  Moran  made  me  an  offer  the  other  day 
for  my  land.  If — I  accept  that  offer,  will  you  exert 
your  influence  in  Santry's  behalf?" 

Coming  so  swiftly  upon  his  planning,  the  prospect 
of  such  signal  success  was  so  gratifying  to  Rexhill 
that  only  in  halting  speech  could  he  maintain  a  show 
of  decorous  restraint.  His  countenance  expressed  ex- 
ultant relief,  as  well  it  might,  since  he  seemed  to  see 
himself  snatched  out  of  the  jaws  of  ruin. 

"Why,  Gordon,  I —  Of  course,  my  boy,  if  you  were 
to  show  such  a  generous  spirit  as  that,  I — er — should 
feel  bound  .  .  ."  The  sense  of  his  remarks  was  lost 
in  the  crash  of  Wade's  fist  upon  the  table. 

"Damn  you!"  The  cattleman  was  beyond  himself 
with  fatigue,  rage,  and  a  rankling  sense  of  injustice. 
"They  told  me  that  was  your  game.  I  believed  it  of 
Moran,  but  I  thought  you  were  square.  So  you're  that 
sort,  too,  eh?  Well,  may  you  rot  in  hell  before  you 


THE  OLD  TRAIL  91 

get  my  land,  you  robber!  Now  listen  to  me."  He 
waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  street.  "Out 
there's  a  hundred  men — real  men — who're  waiting  the 
word  to  run  you  out  of  this  country,  you  and  Moran, 
too,  and  by  God  we'll  do  it — we'll  do  it — and  we'll 
begin  right  away !"  Again  his  heavy  fist  crashed  down 
on  the  table  "Never  mind  Bill  Santry" — the  instinct 
of  discretion  was  gaining  in  Wade. — "He  can  stay 
where  he  is  for  the  present.  First,  we'll  attend  to  you 
pirates — then  we'll  see." 

He  stopped  suddenly  at  sight  of  Helen,  who  attracted 
by  the  noise,  had  entered  the  room,  and  stood  before 
him  in  a  filmy  negligee. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Gordon?"  she  demanded 
anxiously. 

"I  beg  your  pardon."  Wade  spoke  awkwardly,  un- 
ashamed of  himself,  except  for  her.  "I'm  worn  out 
and  I — I  lost  my  temper." 

"Will  you — er — leave  this  room !"  The  Senator  was 
beginning  to  pull  himself  together.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  been  ragged  in  such  a  way,  and  his 
composure  had  suffered;  he  spoke  now  with  more 
than  his  usual  pomposity. 

"I  will,"  Wade  answered  curtly,  as  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  departed. 

The  Senator,  purring  slightly,  fiddled  with  his 
glasses. 

"Your  young  friend  has  seen  fit  to  accuse  me  of — 
of — "  For  the  life  of  him,  he  could  not  at  once  say 
of  just  what  he  had  been  accused,  unless  he  allowed 
self-accusation  to  prompt  his  words.  "Some  sheep- 


92  HIDDEN  GOLD 

herders  have  been  murdered,  I  believe,"  he  went  on, 
"and  Wade  seems  to  think  that  Moran  and  I  are  im- 
plicated." 

"You!"  his  daughter  exclaimed;  evidently  her 
amazement  did  not  extend  to  Moran. 

"Preposterous  nonsense!" 

"Yes,  of  course."  Helen  walked  to  the  window 
and  stood  looking  down  into  the  street.  "I'm  afraid 
Gordon  hasn't  improved  since  we  saw  him  last,"  she 
added,  finally.  "He  seems  quite  a  different  person 
from  the  man  I  used  to  know.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  about  it?" 

"Crush  him!"  The  Senator's  lips  set  in  a  thin, 
white  line,  as  his  hand  descended  on  the  table  on  the 
spot  where  Wade's  fist  had  fallen.  "This,  apparently, 
is  his  gratitude  to  me  for  my  interest  in  him.  Now 
I  intend  to  show  him  the  other  side  of  me." 

"Certainly,  no  one  could  blame  you  for  punishing 
him.  Oh,  everything  between  him  and  me  is  quite 
over,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "He's  a 
perfect  bear." 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  Helen."  Her 
father's  set  lips  relaxed  into  a  responsive  smile.  "You 
couldn't  be  my  daughter  and  not  have  some  sense." 

"Have  I  any?"  Helen  naively  asked. 

She  was  gazing  out  of  the  window  again,  and  to 
her  mind's  eye  the  dusty,  squalid  street  became  a  broad 
highway,  with  jewelers'  shops  on  either  side,  and 
modistes,  and  other  such  charming  things,  just  as  they 
are  found  in  New  York,  or — Paris! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HIGHER   THAN   STATUTE   LAW 

WADE  descended  the  stairs  of  the  hotel  and  went 
into  the  barroom,  fuming  with  rage  and  chagrin  be- 
cause Helen  had  seen  him  in  such  a  temper.  Like 
most  men  of  action,  he  took  pride  in  his  self-control, 
which  seldom  failed  him,  but  the  villainy  of  the  Sen- 
ator's attitude  had  momentarily  mastered  his  patience. 

Gathered  about  the  bar  were  a  number  of  men  whom 
he  knew,  but  beyond  a  nod  here  and  there  he  took 
no  notice  of  them,  and  went  to  sit  down  alone  at  a 
small  table  in  the  corner.  His  friends  respected  his 
desire  to  be  left  alone,  although  several  eyed  him  curi- 
ously and  exchanged  significant  remarks  at  his  appear- 
ance. They  seemed  to  be  of  the  opinion  that,  at  last, 
his  fighting  blood  had  been  aroused,  and  now  and  then 
they  shot  approving  glances  in  his  direction. 

"Whiskey,"  Wade  called  to  the  bartender,  and  a 
bottle  and  glass  were  placed  on  the  table  in  front 
of  him 

With  a  steady  hand  the  ranchman  poured  out  and 
quickly  swallowed  two  stiff  drinks  of  the  fiery  liquor, 
although  he  was  not  ordinarily  a  drinking  man.  The 
fact  that  he  drank  now  showed  his  mental  state  more 
clearly  than  words  could  have  expressed  it.  Search- 
ing in  his  pockets,  he  found  tobacco  and  papers  and 
rolled  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  Nothing  could  be  done 

9.3 


94  HIDDEN  GOLD 

for  Santry  until  night,  and  meanwhile  he  intended  to 
get  something  to  eat  and  take  the  sleep  that  he  needed 
to  fit  himself  for  the  task  ahead  of  him.  He  ordered  a 
steak,  which  on  top  of  the  whiskey  put  new  life  into 
him. 

The  more  he  thought  of  his  outburst  of  temper  be- 
fore Helen  the  more  it  annoyed  him,  for  he  realized 
that  he  had  "bitten  off  a  bigger  wad  than  he  could 
chew,"  as  Bill  Santry  would  have  expressed  it.  Rascal 
though  the  Senator  was,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned, 
Wade  felt  that  his  hands  were  tied  on  Helen's  account. 
For  her  sake,  he  could  not  move  against  her  father 
in  a  country  where  the  average  man  thought  of  con- 
sequences after  the  act  rather  than  before  it.  In  a 
sense  Wade  felt  that  he  stood  sponsor  for  Crawling 
Water  in  the  hospitality  which  it  offered  Helen,  and 
he  could  not  bring  peril  down  on  her  head. 

But  as  for  Moran  and  his  hirelings,  that  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter !  When  the  ranchman  thought  of  Moran, 
no  vengeance  seemed  too  dire  to  fit  his  misdeeds.  In 
that  direction  he  would  go  to  the  limit,  and  he  only 
hoped  that  he  might  get  his  hands  on  Moran  in  the 
mix-up.  He  still  looked  upon  his  final  visit  to  Rex- 
hill  as  a  weakness,  but  it  had  been  undertaken  solely 
on  Santry's  account  It  had  failed,  and  no  one  now 
could  expect  tolerance  of  him  except  Helen.  If  the 
posse  was  still  at  the  ranch,  when  he  and  Santry  re- 
turned there  at  the  head  of  their  men,  they  would  at- 
tack in  force,  and  shoot  to  kill  if  necessary. 

He  learned  from  Lem  Trowbridge,  who  presently 
joined  him  at  the  table,  that  the  posse  would  prob- 


95 

ably  still  be  there,  for  the  report  in  town  was  that 
Moran  had  taken  possession  of  the  property  and  meant 
to  stay  there. 

"He  does,  eh?"  Wade  muttered  grimly.  "Well,  he 
may,  but  it  will  be  with  his  toes  up.  I'm  done,  Lem. 
By  Heaven,  it's  more  than  flesh  and  blood  can  stand!" 

"It  sure  is!  We're  with  you,  Gordon.  Your  men 
were  over  at  my  place  a  few  hours  ago.  We  grubbed 
them  and  loaned  them  all  the  guns  we  could  spare.  I 
sent  over  my  new  Winchester  and  a  belt  of  shells  for 
you." 

"Thanks." 

"That's  all  right.  You're  more  than  welcome  to  all 
the  help  I  can  give  you,  not  only  against  Moran  and 
his  gang,  but  against  Rexhill.  If  you  like,  we'll  run 
him  out  of  town  while  you're  putting  the  fear  of  God 
into  Moran.  Lord!  I  sure  would  like  to  go  back  to 
the  ranch  with  you,  but  it's  your  own  quarrel  and  I 
won't  butt  in." 

Wade  briefly  explained  his  attitude  toward  the  Rex- 
hills  and  added  that  their  cause  would  not  be  helped 
by  violence  toward  the  Senator,  who  was  a  big  man 
at  Washington,  and  might  stir  the  authorities  into 
action  on  his  behalf  if  he  could  prove  personal  abuse. 
The  noise  that  would  be  made  by  such  a  happening 
might  drown  out  the  justice  of  the  cattlemen's  claim. 

"Well,  that's  true,  too,"  Trowbridge  admitted.  "I 
can  see  the  point  all  right.  What  we  want  to  do  is 
to  get  something  'on'  the  Senator.  I  mean  something 
sure — something  like  this  Jensen  shooting." 

Wade  nodded  slowly. 


06  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"That's  the  idea,  hut  I'm  afraid  we  can't  do  it,  Lem. 
I  haven't  a  doubt  but  that  Moran  is  mixed  up  in  the 
killing,  but  I  hardly  believe  Rexhill  is.  Anyhow, 
they've  probably  covered  their  tracks  so  well  that  we'll 
never  be  able  to  connect  them  with  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  can't  always  tell  what 
time'll  bring  to  light."  Trowbridge  lowered  his  voice. 
"What's  your  idea  about  Santry?  Do  you  want  help 
there?" 

"No."  Wade  spoke  with  equal  caution.  "I  believe  I 
can  manage  all  right  alone.  The  Sheriff  will  probably 
be  looking  for  us  to  rush  the  jail,  but  he  won't  expect 
me  to  come  alone.  Bat  Lewis  goes  on  duty  as  the 
relief,  about  nine  o'clock.  I  mean  to  beat  him  to  it, 
and  if  the  Sheriff  opens  up  for  me  I'll  be  away  with 
Santry  before  Bat  appears.  But  I  must  get  some  sleep, 
Lem." 

The  two  men  arose. 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you,  Gordon."  Trowbridge 
slapped  his  friend  on  the  shoulder,  and  they  sepa- 
rated. 

"Frank,  can  you  let  me  have  a  bed?"  Wade  asked 
of  the  hotel  proprietor,  a  freckled  Irishman. 

"Sure;  as  many  as  you  want." 

"One  will  do,  Frank;  and  another  thing,"  the  ranch- 
man said  guardedly.  "I'll  need  an  extra  horse  to- 
night, and  I  don't  want  to  be  seen  with  him  until  I 
need  him.  Can  you  have  him  tied  behind  the  school- 
house  a  little  before  nine  o'clock?" 

"You  bet  I  can !"  The  Irishman  slowly  dropped  an 
eyelid,  for  the  school-house  was  close  by  the  jail. 


HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW         97 

Wade  tumbled  into  the  bed  provided  for  him  and 
slept  like  a  log,  having  that  happy  faculty  of  the  healthy 
man,  of  being  able  to  sleep  when  his  body  needed  it, 
no  matter  what  impended  against  the  hour  of  awak- 
ening. 

When  .he  did  wake  up,  the  afternoon  was  well  ad- 
vanced, and  after  another  hearty  meal  he  walked  over 
to  the  Purnells'  to  pass  the  time  until  it  was  late  enough 
for  him  to  get  to  work. 

"Now,  Gordon  will  tell  you  I'm  right,"  Mrs.  Pur- 
nell  proclaimed  triumphantly,  when  the  young  man  en- 
tered the  cottage.  "I  want  Dorothy  to  go  with  me  to 
call  on  Miss  Rexhill,  and  she  doesn't  want  to  go.  The 
idea !  When  Miss  Rexhill  was  nice  enough  to  call  on 
us  first." 

Mrs.  Purnell  set  much  store  upon  her  manners,  as 
the  little  Michigan  town  where  she  was  born  under- 
stood good  breeding,  and  she  had  not  been  at  all  an- 
noyed by  Helen  Rexhill's  patronage,  which  had  so  dis- 
pleased Wade.  To  her  mind  the  Rexhills  were  very 
great  people,  and  great  people  were  to  be  expected  to 
bear  themselves  in  lofty  fashion.  Dorothy  had  in- 
herited her  democracy  frbm  her  father  and  not  from 
her  mother,  who,  indeed,  would  have  been  disappointed 
if  Helen  Rexhill  appeared  any  less  than  the  exalted 
personage  she  imagined  herself  to  be. 

"Oh,  I'd  like  to  meet  her  well  enough,  only  .  .  ." 
Dorothy  stopped,  unwilling  to  say  before  Wade  that 
she  did  not  consider  the  Rexhills  sufficiently  good 
friends  of  his.  in  the  light  of  recent  developments,  for 
them  to  be  friends  of  hers. 


98  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Of  course,  go,"  he  broke  in  heartily.  "She's  not 
responsible  for  what  her  father  does  in  the  way  of 
business,  and  I  reckon  she'd  think  it  funny  if  you  didn't 
call." 

"There  now !"  Mrs.  Purnell  exclaimed  triumphant!) 

"All  right,  I'll  go."  In  her  heart  Dorothy  was  curi- 
ous to  meet  the  other  woman  and  gauge  her  powers 
of  attraction.  "We'll  go  to-morrow,  mother." 

Quite  satisfied,  Mrs.  Purnell  made  some  excuse  to 
leave  them  together,  as  she  usually  did,  for  her  mother 
heart  had  traveled  farther  along  the  Road  to  To- 
morrow than  her  daughter's  fancy.  She  secretly  hoped 
that  the  young  cattleman  would  some  day  declare  his 
love  for  Dorothy  and  ask  for  her  hand  in  marriage. 

In  reply  to  the  girl's  anxious  questions  Wade  told 
her  of  what  had  happened  since  their  meeting  on  the 
trail,  as  they  sat  together  on  the  porch  of  the  little 
cottage.  She  was  wearing  a  plain  dress  of  green  ging- 
ham, which,  somehow,  suggested  to  him  the  freshness 
of  lettuce.  She  laughed  a  little  when  he  told  her  of 
that  and  called  him  foolish,  though  the  smile  that 
showed  a  dimple  in  her  chin  belied  her  words. 

"Then  the  posse  is  still  at  the  ranch?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  so.  If  they  are,  we  are  going  to  run  them 
off  to-morrow  morning,  or  perhaps  to-night.  I've  had 
enough  of  this  nonsense  and  I  mean  to  meet  Moran 
halfway  from  now  on." 

"Yes,  T  suppose  you  must,"  she  admitted  reluctantly. 
"But  do  be  careful,  Gordon." 

"As  careful  as  T  can  be  under  the  circumstances,"  he 
said  cheerfully,  and  told  her  that  his  chief  purpose  in 


HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW         99, 

coming  to  see  her  was  to  thank  her  again  for  the 
service  she  had  rendered  him. 

"Oh,  you  don't  need  to  thank  me  for  that.  Do  you 
know" — she  puckered  up  her  brows  in  a  reflective  way 
— "I've  been  thinking.  It  seems  very  strange  to  me 
that  Senator  Rexhill  and  Moran  should  be  willing  to 
go  to  such  lengths  merely  to  get  hold  of  this  land  as 
a  speculation.  Doesn't  it  seem  so  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,  it  does,  but  that  must  be  their  reason." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Gordon.  There  must  be 
something  more  behind  all  this.  That's  what  I  have 
been  thinking  about.  You  remember  that  when  Moran 
first  came  here  he  had  an  office  just  across  the  street 
from  his  present  one  ?" 

"Yes.  Simon  Barsdale  had  Moran's  present  office 
until  he  moved  to  Sheridan.  You  were  his  stenogra- 
pher for  a  while,  I  remember."  Wade  looked  at  her 
curiously,  wondering  what  she  was  driving  at. 

"Moran  bought  Mr.  Barsdale's  safe."  Her  voice 
sounded  strange  and  unnatural.  "I  know  the  old  com- 
bination. I  wonder  if  it  has  been  changed?" 

"Lem  Trowbridge  was  saying  only  this  morning," 
said  Wade  thoughtfully,  for  he  was  beginning  to  catch 
her  meaning,  "that  if  we  could  only  get  proof  of  some- 
thing crooked  we  might  .  .  ." 

"Well.  I  think  we  can,"  Dorothy  interrupted. 

They  looked  searchingly  at  each  other  in  the  gath- 
ering dusk,  and  he  tried  to  read  the  light  in  her  eyes, 
and  being  strangely  affected  himself  by  their  close 
proximity,  he  misinterpreted  it.  He  slipped  his  hand 
over  hers  and  once  more  the  desire  to  kiss  her  seized, 


ioo  HIDDEN  GOLD 

him.  He  let  go  of  her  hand  and  was  just  putting  his 
arm  around  her  shoulders  when,  to  his  surprise,  she 
appeared  suddenly  indignant. 

"Don't!" 

He  was  abashed,  and  for  a  moment  neither  said  a 
word. 

"What  is  the  combination?"  he  finally  asked 
hoarsely. 

"I  promised  Mr.  Barsdale  never  to  tell  any  one." 
Her  lips  wreathed  into  a  little  smile.  'Til  do  it  my- 
self." 

"No,  you  won't."  Wade  shook  his  head  positively. 
"Do  you  suppose  I'm  going  to  let  you  steal  for  me? 
It  will  be  bad  enough  to  do  it  myself;  but  necessity 
knows  no  law.  Well,  we'll  let  it  go  for  the  present 
then.  Don't  you  think  of  doing  it,  Dorothy.  Will 
you  promise  me?" 

"I  never  promise,"  she  said,  smiling  again,  and  ig- 
noring her  last  words  in  womanly  fashion,  "but  if  you 
don't  want  me  to  .  .  ." 

"Well,  I  don't,"  he  declared  firmly.  "Let  it  rest 
at  that.  We'll  probably  find  some  other  way  any- 
liow." 

She  asked  him  then  about  Santry,  but  he  evaded  a 
direct  answer  beyond  expressing  the  conviction  that 
everything  would  end  all  right.  They  talked  for  a 
while  of  commonplaces,  although  nothing  that  he  said 
seemed  commonplace  to  her  and  nothing  that  she  said 
seemed  so  to  him.  When  it  was  fully  dark  he  arose 
to  go.  Then  she  seemed  a  little  sorry  that  she  had 
not  let  him  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  she  leaned 


HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW        101 

toward  him  as  she  had  done  on  the  trail;  but  he  was 
not  well  versed  in  woman's  subtleties,  and  he  failed  to 
guess  her  thoughts  and  walked  away,  leaving  her,  as 
Shakespeare  put  it,  to 

"Twice  desire,  ere  it  be  day, 
That  which  with  scorn  she  put  away." 

Having  mounted  his  horse  at  the  livery  stable,  he 
first  made  sure  that  the  extra  horse  was  behind  the 
school-house,  where  he  tied  his  own,  and  then  walked 
around  to  the  jail.  On  the  outside,  this  building  was 
a  substantial  log  structure;  within,  it  was  divided  into 
the  Sheriff's  office  and  sleeping  room,  the  "bull  pen," 
and  a  single  narrow  cell,  in  which  Wade  guessed  that 
Santry  would  be  locked.  After  examining  his  re- 
volver, he  slipped  it  into  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat 
and  walked  boldly  up  to  the  jail.  Then,  whistling  mer- 
rily, for  Bat  Lewis,  the  deputy,  was  a  confirmed  hu- 
man song-bird,  he  knocked  sharply  on  the  door  with 
his  knuckles. 

"It's  me — Bat,"  he  called  out,  mimicking  Lewis' 
voice,  in  answer  to  a  question  from  within. 

"You're  early  to-night.  What's  struck  you  ?"  Sher- 
iff Thomas  opened  the  door,  and  turning,  left  it  so, 
for  the  "relief"  to  enter.  He  had  half  feared  that  an 
attempt  might  be  made  to  liberate  Santry,  but  had 
never  dreamed  that  any  one  would  try  the  thing  alone. 
He  was  glad  to  be  relieved,  for  a  poker  game  at  which 
he  wanted  to  sit  in  would  soon  start  at  the  Gulch 
Saloon. 

He  was  the  most  surprised  man  in  Wyoming,  when 


102  HIDDEN  GOLD 

he  felt  the  cold  muzzle  of  Wade's  Colt  boring  into 
the  nape  of  his  neck  and  heard  the  ranchman's  stern 
warning  to  keep  quiet  or  take  the  consequences.  Sher- 
iff Thomas  had  earned  his  right  to  his  "star"  by  more 
than  one  exhibition  of  nerve,  but  he  was  too  familiar 
with  gun  ethics  to  argue  with  the  business  end  of  a 

"45." 

"Not  a  sound!"  Outwardly  cold  as  ice,  but  in- 
wardly afire,  Wade  shoved  the  weapon  against  his 
victim's  neck  and  marched  him  to  the  middle  of  the 
room.  "I've  got  the  upper  hand,  Sheriff,  and  I  intend 
to  keep  it." 

"You're  a  damn  fool,  Wade."  The  Sheriff  spoke 
without  visible  emotion  and  in  a  low  tone.  "You'll 
go  up  for  this.  Don't  you  realize  that  .  .  ." 

"Can  it !"  snapped  Wade,  deftly  disarming  the  officer 
with  his  free  hand.  "Never  mind  the  majesty  of  the 
law  and  all  that  rot.  I  thought  that  all  over  be- 
fore I  came.  Now  that  I've  got  you  and  drawn  your 
teeth,  you'll  take  orders  from  me.  Get  my  foreman 
out  of  that  cell  and  be  quick  about  it !" 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  obey,  which  Thomas 
quietly  did,  although  somewhat  in  fear  of  what  San- 
try  might  do  when  at  liberty.  When  the  cell  door 
was  unlocked,  the  old  plainsman,  in  a  towering  rage 
at  the  injustice  of  his  incarceration,  seemed  inclined 
to  choke  his  erstwhile  jailer. 

"None  of  that,  Bill."  Wade  admonished  curtly. 
"He's  only  been  a  tool  in  this  business,  although  he 
ou?ht  to  know  better.  We'll  tie  him  up  and  gag  him; 
that's  all.  Rip  up  one  of  those  blankets." 


HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW        103 

"I  knew  you'd  come,  boy !"  The  foreman's  joy  was 
almost  like  that  of  a  big  dog  at  sight  of  his  master. 
"By  the  great  horned  toad,  I  knew  it!"  With  his 
sinewy  hands  he  tore  the  blanket  into  strips  as  easily 
as  though  the  wool  had  been  paper.  "Now  for  him, 
drat  him!" 

Wade  stood  guard  while  the  helpless  Sheriff  was 
trussed  up  and  his  mouth  stopped  by  Santry,  and  if 
the  ranch  owner  felt  any  compunction  at  the  sight, 
he  had  only  to  think  of  his  own  men  as  he  had  seen 
them  the  night  before,  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  ranch 
house. 

"Make  a  good  job  of  it,  Bill,"  was  his  only  com- 
ment. 

"You  bet!"  Santry  chuckled  as  he  drew  the  last  of 
the  knots  tight.  "That'll  hold  him  for  a  spell,  I 
reckon.  How  you  feel,  Sheruff,  purty  comfortable?" 
The  flowing  end  of  the  gag  so  hid  the  officer's  fea- 
tures that  he  could  express  himself  only  with  his  eyes, 
which  he  batted  furiously.  "Course,"  Santry  went  on, 
in  mock  solicitude,  "if  I'd  thought  I  mighta  put  a  bit 
of  sugar  on  that  there  gag,  to  remind  you  of  your 
mammy  like,  but  it  ain't  no  great  matter.  You  can 
put  a  double  dose  in  your  cawfee  when  you  git  loose." 

"Come  on,  Bill!"  Wade  commanded. 

"So  long,  Sheruff,"  Santry  chuckled. 

There  was  no  time  to  waste  in  loitering,  for  at 
any  moment  Bat  Lewis  might  arrive  and  give  an  alarm 
which  would  summon  reinforcements  from  amongst 
Moran's  following.  Hurrying  Santry  ahead  of  him, 
Wade  swung  open  the  door  and  they  looked  out  cau- 


104  HIDDEN  GOLD 

tiously.  No  one  was  in  sight,  and  a  couple  of  min- 
utes later  the  two  men  were  mounted  and  on  their 
way  out  of  town. 

"By  the  great  horned  toad!"  Santry  exulted,  as  they 
left  the  lights  of  Crawling  Water  behind  them.  "It 
sure  feels  good  to  be  out  of  that  there  boardin'-house. 
It  wasn't  our  fault,  Gordon,  and  say,  about  this  here 
shootin'  .  .  ." 

"I  know  all  about  that,  Bill,"  Wade  interposed. 
"The  boys  told  me.  They're  waiting  for  us  at  the  big 
pine.  But  your  arrest,  that's  what  I  want  to  hear 
about." 

"Well,  it  was  this-a-way,"  the  old  man  explained. 
"They  sneaked  up  on  the  house  in  the  dark  and  got 
the  drop  on  us.  Right  here  I  rise  to  remark  that 
never  no  more  will  I  separate  myself  from  my  six- 
shooter.  More'n  one  good  man  has  got  hisself  killed 
just  because  his  gun  wasn't  where  it  oughter  be  when 
he  needed  it.  Of  course,  we  put  up  the  best  scrap 
we  could,  but  we  didn't  have  no  chance,  Gordon.  The 
first  thing  I  knew,  while  I  was  tusslin'  with  one  feller, 
somebody  fetched  me  a  rap  on  the  head  with  a  pistol- 
butt,  an'  I  went  down  for  the  count.  Any  of  the  boys 
shot  up?" 

Wade  described  the  appearance  of  the  ranch  house 
on  the  previous  night,  and  Santry  swore  right  man- 
fully. 

"What's  on  the  cards  now?"  he  demanded.  "How 
much  longer  are  we  goin'  to  stand  for  ..." 

"No  longer,"  Wade  declared  crisply.  "That's  why 
the  boys  are  waiting  for  us  at  the  pine.  We're  going 


HIGHER  THAN  STATUTE  LAW        105 

to  run  Moran  and  his  gang  off  the  ranch  as  soon 
as  we  can  get  there,  and  then  we're  going  to  run 
them  out  of  the  country." 

"Whoop-e-e-e-e-e !"  The  old  plainsman's  yell  of  ex- 
ultation split  the  night  like  the  yelp  of  a  coyote,  and 
he  brought  his  hand  down  on  Wade's  back  with  a  force 
which  made  the  latter  wince.  "By  the  great  horned 
toad,  that's  talkin !  That's  the  finest  news  I've  heard 
since  my  old  mammy  said  to  the  parson,  'Call  him 
Bill,  for  short.'  Whoop-e-e-e-e !" 

Wade's  warning  to  keep  still  was  lost  on  the  wind, 
for  Santry  stuck  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  flanks  and 
charged  along  the  trail  like  an  old-time  knight.  With 
a  grim  smile  his  employer  put  on  speed  and  followed 
him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   BATTLE   AT   THE   RANCH 

WHEN  Wade  and  Santry  approached  the  big  pine, 
the  waiting  men  came  out  from  its  shadow  and  rode 
forward,  with  the  borrowed  rifles  across  their  saddle 
horns. 

"All  right,  boys?"  the  rancher  asked,  taking  T  row- 
bridge's  new  rifle,  a  beautiful  weapon,  which  Lawson 
handed  to  him. 

"All  right,  sir,"  answered  Tim  Sullivan,  adding  the 
"sir"  in  extenuation  of  his  befuddled  condition  the 
night  before,  while  each  man  gave  Santry  a  silent  hand- 
shake to  welcome  him  home. 

Grimly,  silently,  then,  save  for  the  dashing  of  their 
horses'  hoofs  against  the  loose  stones,  and  an  occa- 
sional muttered  imprecation  as  a  rider  lurched  in  his 
saddle,  the  seven  men  rode  rapidly  toward  the  moun- 
tains. In  numbers,  their  party  was  about  evenly 
matched  with  the  enemy,  and  Wade  meant  that  the 
advantage  of  surprise,  if  possible,  should  rest  with 
him  in  order  to  offset  such  advantage  as  Moran  might 
find  in  the  shelter  of  the  house.  But,  however  that 
might  be,  each  man  realized  that  the  die  had  been  cast 
and  that  the  fight,  once  begun,  would  go  to  a  finish. 

"I  only  hope,"  Santry  remarked,  as  a  steep  grade 
forced  them  to  lessen  their  speed,  "I  can  get  my  two 

106 


THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  RANCH    107 

hands  on  that  cussed  tin-horn,  Moran.  Him  and  me 
has  a  misunderstandin'  to  settle,  for  sure." 

"You  leave  him  to  me,  Bill."  Wade  spoke  vindic- 
tively. "He's  my  meat" 

"Well,  since  you  ask  it,  I'll  try,  boy.  But  there's 
goin'  to  be  some  fightin'  sure  as  taxes,  and  when  I  get 
to  fightin',  I'm  liable  to  go  plumb,  hog  wild.  Say,  I 
hope  you  don't  get  into  no  trouble  over  this  here  jail 
business  o'  mine.  That  'ud  make  me  feel  bad,  Gor- 
don." 

"We'll  not  worry  about  that  now,  Bill." 

"That's  right.  Don't  worry  till  you  have  to,  and 
then  shoot  instead.  That's  been  my  motto  all  my  born 
days,  and  it  ain't  such  durn  bad  philosophy  at  that. 
I  wonder" — the  old  man  chuckled  to  himself — "I  won- 
der if  the  Sheruff  et  up  most  of  that  there  gag  before 
Bat  let  him  loose?" 

Wade  laughed  out  loud,  and  as  though  in  response, 
an  owl  hooted  somewhere  in  the  timber  to  their  right. 

"There's  a  durned  old  hoot  owl,"  growled  Santry. 
"I  never  like  to  hear  them  things — they  most  always 
mean  bad  luck." 

He  rode  to  the  head  of  the  little  column,  and  the 
rest  of  the  way  to  the  ranch  was  passed  in  ominous 
silence.  When  they  finally  arrived  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing  and  cautiously  dismounted,  everything  seemed 
from  the  exterior,  at  least,  just  as  it  should  be.  The 
night  being  far  gone,  the  lights  were  out,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  life  about  the  place.  Wade  wondered 
if  the  posse  had  gone. 

"There  ain't  no  use  in  speculatin',"  declared  Santry. 


io8  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"They  may  be  asleep,  and  they  may  be  layin'  for  us 
there  in  the  dark.  This  will  take  a  rise  out  of  'em 
anyhow." 

At  sight  of  the  old  fellow,  pistol  in  hand,  Wade 
called  to  him  to  wait,  but  as  he  spoke  Santry  fired  two 
quick  shots  into  the  air. 

There  was  an  immediate  commotion  in  the  ranch 
house.  A  man  inside  was  heard  to  curse  loudly,  while 
another  showed  his  face  for  an  instant  where  the  moon- 
light fell  across  a  window.  He  hastily  ducked  out  of 
sight,  however,  when  a  rifle  bullet  splintered  the  glass 
just  above  his  head.  Presently  a  gun  cracked  inside 
the  house  and  a  splash  on  a  rock  behind  the  attackers 
told  them  where  the  shot  had  struck. 

"Whoop-e-e-e-e !"  Santry  yelled,  discharging  the 
four  remaining  shots  in  his  revolver  at  the  window. 
"We've  got  'em  guessin'.  They  don't  know  how  many 
we  are." 

"They  were  probably  asleep,"  said  Wade  a  bit 
sharply.  "We  might  have  sneaked  in  and  captured 
the  whole  crowd  without  firing  a  shot.  That's  what 
I  meant  to  do  before  you  cut  loose." 

Santry  shook  his  grizzled  head  as  he  loaded  his 
revolver. 

"Well,  now,  that  would  have  been  just  a  mite  risky, 
boy.  The  way  things  stand  we've  still  got  the  advan- 
tage, an'  .  .  ."  He  broke  off  to  take  a  snap-shot  at 
a  man  who  showed  himself  at  the  window  for  an  in- 
stant in  an  effort  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  attacking 
force.  "One!"  muttered  the  old  plainsman  to  himself. 


THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  RANCH    109 

By  this  time  Wade  had  thrown  himself  down  on 
his  stomach  behind  a  bowlder  to  Santry's  left  and  was 
shooting  methodically  at  the  door  of  the  house,  di- 
rectly in  front  of  him.  He  knew  that  door.  It  was 
built  of  inch  lumber  and  was  so  located  that  a  bullet, 
after  passing  through  it,  would  rake  the  interior  of 
the  cabin  from  end  to  end.  The  only  way  the  inmates 
could  keep  out  of  the  line  of  his  fire  was  by  hugging 
the  walls  on  either  side,  where  they  would  be  par- 
tially exposed  to  the  leaden  hail  which  Santry  and 
the  punchers  were  directing  at  the  windows. 

There  was  a  grim,  baleful  look  on  the  young  man's 
usually  pleasant  face,  and  his  eyes  held  a  pitiless  gleam. 
He  was  shooting  straight,  shooting  to  kill,  and  taking 
a  fierce  delight  in  the  act.  The  blood  lust  was  upon 
him,  that  primal,  instinctive  desire  for  combat  in  a 
righteous  cause  that  lies  hidden  at  the  very  bottom 
of  every  strong  man's  nature.  And  there  came  to  his 
mind  no  possible  question  of  the  righteous  nature  of 
his  cause.  He  was  fighting  to  regain  possession  of 
his  own  home  from  the  marauders  who  had  invaded 
it.  His  enemies  had  crowded  him  to  the  wall,  and 
now  they  were  paying  the  penalty.  Wade  worked 
the  lever  of  his  Winchester  as  though  he  had  no  other 
business  in  life.  A  streak  of  yellow  clay  mingled  with 
a  bloody  trickle  from  a  bullet  scratch  on  his  cheek 
gave  his  set  features  a  fairly  ferocious  expression. 

Santry,  glancing  toward  him,  chuckled  again,  but 
without  mirth.  "The  boy's  woke  up  at  last,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself.  "They've  drove  him  to  it,  durn  'em. 


no  HIDDEN  GOLD 

I  knew  almighty  well  that  this  law  an'  order  stunt 
couldn't  last  forever.  Wow!" 

The  latter  exclamation  was  caused  by  a  bullet  which 
ricocheted  from  a  rock  near  his  head,  driving  a  quan- 
tity of  fine  particles  into  his  face. 

"Whoop-e-e-e-e !"  he  howled  a  moment  later.  "We 
got  'em  goin'.  It's  a  cinch  they  can't  stand  this  pace 
for  more'n  a  week." 

Indeed,  it  was  a  marvel  that  the  defenders  kept  on 
fighting  as  long  as  they  did.  Already  the  door,  be- 
neath Wade's  machine-like  shooting,  had  been  com- 
pletely riddled;  the  windows  were  almost  bare  of 
glass ;  and  great  splinters  of  wood  had  been  torn  from 
the  log  walls  by  the  heavy  rifle  bullets  on  their  way 
through  to  the  interior.  Soon  the  door  sagged  and 
crashed  inward,  and  into  the  gaping  hole  thus  made 
Wade  continued  to  empty  his  rifle. 

At  last,  the  fire  of  those  within  slackened  and  tem- 
porarily ceased.  Did  this  mean  surrender?  Wade 
asked  himself  and  ordered  his  men  to  stop  shooting 
and  await  developments.  For  some  moments  all  was 
still,  and  the  advisability  of  rushing  the  house  was 
being  discussed  when  all  at  once  the  fire  of  the  de- 
fenders began  again.  This  time,  however,  there  was 
something:  very  odd  about  it.  There  was  a  loud  bang- 
ing of  exploding  cartridges,  but  only  a  few  shots 
whistled  around  the  heads  of  the  cattlemen.  Never- 
theless, Wade  told  his  men  to  resume  shooting,  and 
once  more  settled  down  to  his  own  task. 


THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  RANCH    in 

"What'n  hell  they  tryin'  to  do?"  Santry  demanded. 
"Sounds  like  a  Fourth  o'  July  barbecue  to  me." 

"I  don't  know,"  Wade  answered,  charging  the  maga- 
zine of  his  rifle,  "but  whatever  it  is  they'll  have  to 
stop  mighty  soon." 

Then  gradually,  but  none  the  less  certainly,  the  fire 
from  within  slackened  until  all  was  still.  This  seemed 
more  like  a  visitation  of  death,  and  again  Wade  or- 
dered his  men  to  stop  shooting.  They  obeyed  orders 
and  lay  still,  keenly  watching  the  house. 

"Do  you  surrender?"  Wade  shouted;  but  there  was 
no  reply. 

Santry  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"By  the  great  horned  toad !"  he  cried.  "I'm  a-goin' 
in  there!  Anybody  that  wants  to  come  along  is  wel- 
come." 

Not  a  man  in  the  party  would  be  dared  in  that  way, 
so,  taking  advantage  of  such  cover  as  offered,  they 
advanced  upon  the  cabin,  stealthily  at  first  and  then 
more  rapidly,  as  they  met  with  no  resistance — no  sign 
whatever  of  life.  A  final  rush  carried  them  through 
the  doorway  into  the  house,  where  they  expected  to 
find  a  shambles. 

Wade  struck  a  light,  and  faced  about  with  a  start 
as  a  low  groan  came  from  a  corner  of  the  back  room. 
A  man  lay  at  full  length  on  the  floor,  tied  hand  and 
foot,  and  gagged.  It  was  Ed  Nelson,  one  of  the  Dou- 
ble Arrow  hands  who  had  been  surprised  and  captured 
by  the  posse,  and  a  little  farther  away  in  the  shadow 
against  the  wall  his  two  companions  lay  in  a  like 


H2  HIDDEN  GOLD 

condition.  With  his  knife  Wade  was  cutting  them 
loose,  and  glancing  about  in  a  puzzled  search  for  the 
wounded  men  he  expected  to  find  in  the  house,  when 
Santry  shouted  something  from  the  kitchen. 

"What  is  it,  Bill?"  the  ranch  owner  demanded. 

Santry  tramped  back  into  the  room,  laughing  in  a 
shamefaced  sort  of  way. 

"They  done  us,  Gordon!'*  he  burst  out.  "By  the 
great  horned  toad,  they  done  us!  They  chucked  a 
bunch  of  shells  into  the  hot  cook-stove,  an'  sneaked 
out  the  side  door  while  we  was  shootin'  into  the  front 
room.  By  cracky,  that  beats  .  .  ." 

"That's  what  they  did,"  spoke  up  Nelson,  as  well  as 
his  cramped  tongue  would  permit,  being  now  freed  of 
the  gag.  "They  gagged  us  first,  so's  we  couldn't  sing 
out ;  then  they  filled  up  the  stove  an'  beat  it." 

What  had  promised  to  be  a  tragedy  had  proved  a 
fiasco,  and  Wade  smiled  a  little  foolishly. 

"The  joke's  on  us,  I  guess,  boys,"  he  admitted. 
"But  we've  got  the  ranch  back,  at  any  rate.  How 
are  you  feeling,  Ed,  pretty  stiff  and  sore?" 

"My  Gawd,  yes — awful!" 

"Me,  too,"  declared  Tom  Parrish,  the  second  of  the 
victims;  and  the  third  man  swore  roundly  that  he 
would  not  regain  the  full  use  of  his  legs  before  Christ- 
mas. 

"Well,  you're  lucky  at  that,"  was  Santry's  dry  com- 
ment. "All  that  saved  you  from  gettin'  shot  up  some 
in  the  fight  was  layin'  low  down  in  that  corner  where 
you  was."  He  let  his  eyes  travel  around  the  littered, 
blood-spattered  room.  "From  the  looks  o'  this  shebang 


THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  RANCH    113 

we  musta  stung  some  of  'em  pretty  deep;  but  nobody 
was  killed,  I  reckon.  I  hope  Moran  was  the  worst 
hurt,  durn  him!" 

"He'll  keep/'  Wade  said  grimly.    "We've  not  done 
with  him  yet,  Bill.    We've  only  just  begun." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    SENATOR   GETS    BUSY 

IT  was  daylight  when  the  routed  posse,  with  Race 
Moran  in  the  lead,  his  left  arm  tied  up  in  a  blood- 
stained handkerchief,  rode  into  Crawling  Water.  A 
bullet  had  pierced  the  fleshy  part  of  the  agent's  wrist, 
a  trifling  wound,  but  one  which  gave  him  more  pain 
than  he  might  have  suffered  from  a  serious  injury. 
None  of  the  members  of  the  posse  had  been  danger- 
ously wounded ;  indeed,  they  had  suffered  more  in  the 
spirit  than  in  the  flesh;  but  there  had  been  a  number 
of  minor  casualties  amongst  the  men,  which  made  a 
sufficiently  bloody  display  to  arouse  the  little  town  to 
active  curiosity. 

Under  instructions  from  the  leader,  however,  the 
fugitives  kept  grouchily  silent,  so  that  curiosity  was 
able  to  feed  only  on  speculations  as  to  Wade's  temper, 
and  the  fact  that  he  had  brought  about  Santry's  release 
from  jail.  The  story  of  that  achievement  had  been 
bruited  about  Crawling  Water  since  midnight,  to- 
gether with  the  probability  that  the  Law  would  be 
invoked  to  punish  the  ranchman  for  his  defiance  of 
it.  Popular  sentiment  was  running  high  over  the  like- 
lihood of  such  a  step  being  taken,  and  the  members 
of  the  posse  were  the  targets  of  many  hostile  glances 
from  the  townspeople.  At  least  two-thirds  of  the  citi- 
zens were  strongly  in  favor  of  Wade,  but  before  they 

114 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY  115 

took  active  steps  in  «his  behalf  they  waited  for  the 
return  of  a  horseman,  who  had  hurried  out  to  the 
ranch  to  learn  at  first  hand  exactly  what  had  happened 
there. 

Meanwhile  Moran,  in  an  ugly  mood,  had  awakened 
the  Senator  from  the  troubled  sleep  which  had  come 
to  him  after  much  wakeful  tossing.  Rexhill,  with 
tousled  hair,  wrapped  in  a  bathrobe,  from  the  bottom 
of  which  his  bare  ankles  and  slippered  feet  protruded, 
sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  impatiently  chewing  an 
unlighted  cigar  while  he  listened  to  Moran' s  account 
of  the  fracas. 

"You  went  too  far,  Race, — you  went  too  far,"  he 
burst  out  angrily  at  last.  "You  had  no  orders  to 
jump  the  ranch.  I  told  you  .  .  ." 

"We've  been  fooling  around  long  enough,  Senator," 
Moran  interrupted  sullenly,  nursing  his  throbbing 
wrist.  "It  was  high  time  somebody  started  some- 
thing, and  when  I  saw  my  chance  I  seized  it.  You 
seem  to  think" — his  voice  trailed  into  scorn — "that  we 
are  playing  marbles  with  boys,  but,  I  tell  you,  it's  men 
we're  up  against.  My  experience  has  shown  me  that  it's 
the  first  blow  that  counts  in  any  fight." 

"Well,  who  got  in  the  hardest  lick,  eh?"  Rexhill 
snorted  sarcastically.  "The  first  blow's  all  right,  pro- 
vided the  second  isn't  a  knockout  from  the  other  side. 
Why,  confound  it,  Race,  here  we  had  Wade  at  our 
mercy.  He'd  broken  into  jail  and  set  free  a  suspected 
murderer — a  clear  case  of  criminality.  Then  you  had  to 
spoil  it  all." 

Moran  smothered  an  imprecation. 


ii6  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"You  seem  to  forget,  Senator,  that  we  had  him  at 
our  mercy  before,  and  you  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  If 
you'd  taken  my  advice  in  the  first  place,  we'd  have 
had  Wade  in  jail  instead  of  Santry  and  things  might 
have  been  different." 

"Your  advice  was  worthless  under  the  circum- 
stances; that's  why  I  didn't  take  it."  Rexhill  delib- 
erately paused  and  lighted  his  cigar,  from  which  he 
took  several  soothing  puffs.  To  have  been  aroused 
from  his  bed  with  such  news  had  flustered  him  some- 
what; but  he  had  never  known  anything  worth  while 
to  come  out  of  a  heated  discussion,  and  he  sought 
now  to  calm  himself.  Finally,  he  spoke  slowly. 
"What  you  proposed  to  me  then  was  a  frame-up,  and 
all  frame-ups  are  dangerous,  particularly  when  they 
have  little  to  rest  upon.  For  that  reason  I  refused 
to  fall  in  with  your  ideas,  Race.  This  release  of  San- 
try  from  jail  is — or  was — an  entirely  different  thing, 
an  overt  criminal  act,  with  Sheriff  Thomas  on  our  side 
as  an  unimpeachable  witness." 

Moran  was  suffering  too  keenly  from  his  wound 
and  smarting  under  his  defeat  too  much  to  be  alto- 
gether reasonable.  His  manner  was  fast  losing  the 
appearance  of  respect  which  he  had  previously  shown 
his  employer.  His  expression  was  becoming  heated 
and  contemptuous. 

"You  didn't  base  your  refusal  on  logic  at  the  time, 
Senator,"  he  said.  "It  was  sentiment,  if  I  remem- 
ber right.  Wade  had  broken  bread  with  you,  and  all 
that.  I  don't  see  but  what  that  applies  just  as  well  now 
as  it  did  then." 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     117 

"It  doesn't,"  the  Senator  argued  smugly,  still  ran- 
kling from  Wade's  arraignment  of  him  the  day  before, 
"because  even  hospitality  has  its  limits  of  obligation. 
So  long  as  I  knew  Wade  to  be  innocent,  I  did  not 
care  to  have  him  arrested;  but  I  don't  admit  any 
sentiment  of  hospitality  which  compels  me  to  save  a 
known  criminal  from  the  hand  of  justice.  Sheriff 
Thomas  came  in  to  see  me  last  night  and  I  agreed  with 
him  that  Wade  should  be  brought  to  account  for  his 
contempt  of  the  law.  Wade  forced  his  way  into  the 
jail  and  released  his  foreman  at  the  point  of  a  gun. 
Even  so,  I  feel  sorry  for  Wade  and  I  am  a  little 
apprehensive  of  the  consequences  that  will  probably 
develop  from  his  foolhardiness." 

"Well,  by  God,  if  there's  any  sympathy  for  him 
floating  around  this  room,  it  all  belongs  to  you,  Sen- 
ator." Moran  tenderly  fingered  his  aching  wrist. 
"I'm  not  one  of  these  'turn  the  other  cheek'  guys; 
you  can  gamble  on  that !" 

"But  now  where  are  we?"  Rexhill  ignored  the 
other's  remarks  entirely.  "We  are  but  little  better 
off  than  Wade  is.  He  pulled  Santry  out  of  jail,  and 
we  tried  to  steal  his  ranch.  The  only  difference  is 
that  so  far  he  has  succeeded,  and  we  have  failed.  He 
has  as  much  law  on  his  side  now  as  we  have  on  ours." 

Moran's  head  drooped  a  little  before  the  force  of 
this  argument,  although  he  was  chiefly  impressed  by 
the  fact  that  he  had  failed.  His  failures  had  been  few, 
because  Fortune  had  smiled  upon  him  in  the  past ;  and 
doubtless  for  this  reason  he  was  the  less  able  to  treat 
failure  philosophically.  His  plans  at  the  ranch  house 


n8  HIDDEN  GOLD 

had  gone  awry.  He  had  counted  on  meeting  Wade 
there  in  the  daytime,  in  the  open,  and  upon  provok- 
ing him,  before  witnesses,  into  some  hot-headed  act 
which  would  justify  a  battle.  The  surprise  attack  had 
left  the  agent  without  this  excuse  for  the  hostilities 
which  had  occurred. 

Rexhill  arose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
in  thought,  his  slippered  feet  shuffling  over  the  floor, 
showing  now  and  then  a  glimpse  of  his  fat,  hairy 
legs  as  the  skirt  of  his  bath-robe  fluttered  about.  A 
cloud  of  fragrant  smoke  from  his  cigar  trailed  him 
as  he  walked,  and  from  the  way  he  chewed  on  the 
tobacco  his  confreres  in  the  Senate  could  have  guessed 
that  he  was  leading  up  to  one  of  his  Czar-like  pro- 
nouncements. Presently  he  stopped  moving  and  twist- 
ed the  cigar  in  his  mouth  so  that  its  fumes  would  be 
out  of  his  eyes,  as  his  glance  focused  on  Moran. 

"There's  just  one  way  out  of  this  mess,  Race,"  he 
began.  "Now  heed  what  I  say  to  you.  I'm  going  to 
send  a  telegram  to  the  Department  of  the  Interior 
which  will  bring  a  troop  of  cavalry  down  here  from 
Fort  Mackenzie.  You  must  go  slow  from  now  on, 
and  let  the  authorities  settle  the  whole  matter." 

The  agent  sat  up  alertly,  as  his  employer,  wagging 
a  ponderous  forefinger  impressively,  proceeded. 

"You  were  not  on  the  ranch  for  the  purpose  of 
jumping  it  at  all.  Mind  that  now!  You  and  I  stand 
for  the  majesty  of  the  law  in  this  lawless  community." 
Moran's  eyes  began  to  twinkle  at  this,  but  he  said 
nothing.  "When  you  and  Sheriff  Thomas  went  out 
to  the  ranch,  you  carried  two  warrants  with  you,  one 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     119 

for  Santry,  as  the  accessory,  and  one  for  Wade,  as 
the  principal,  in  the  Jensen  shooting.  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
what  you  are  going  to  say;  but  I  must  save  my  own 
bacon  now.  Since  Wade  has  proved  himself  to  be 
a  lawbreaker,  I'm  not  going  to  protect  him." 

"Now,  you're  talking !"  exclaimed  Moran,  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  what  such  a  course  would  start 
going. 

"I'll  have  the  matter  of  the  warrants  fixed  up  with 
Thomas,"  the  Senator  continued.  "Now,  follow  me 
carefully.  Thomas  arrested  Santry  at  the  ranch,  and 
then  left  you,  as  his  deputy,  to  serve  the  other  war- 
rant on  Wade  when  he  came  home.  It  was  because 
of  his  knowledge  of  what  was  in  store  for  him  that 
Wade,  after  getting  Santry  out  of  jail,  attacked  you 
and  your  men,  and  it  was  in  defense  of  the  law  that 
you  returned  their  fire.  It  will  all  work  out  very 
smoothly,  I  think,  and  any  further  hostilities  will  come 
from  the  other  side  and  be  to  our  great  advantage." 

Moran  looked  at  his  employer  in  admiration,  as  the 
latter  concluded  and  turned  toward  his  writing  table. 

"Senator,"  the  agent  declared,  as  Rexhill  took  up 
his  fountain  pen  and  began  to  write  on  a  telegraph 
form,  "you  never  should  have  started  in  Denver.  If 
you'd  been  born  in  little  old  New  York,  you'd  be  in 
the  White  House  now.  From  this  minute  on  you  and 
I  are  going  to  carry  this  whole  valley  in  our  vest- 
pockets." 

"You  take  this  over  and  put  it  on  the  wire  right 
away,  Race.  It's  to  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior  and 
my  signature  on  it  should  get  immediate  attention." 


120  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Senator  Rexhill  handed  over  the  telegraph  form  he  had 
filled  out. 

"But  what  about  State  rights  in  this  business?" 
Moran  asked,  anxiously.  "Will  they  send  Government 
troops  in  here  on  your  say  so  ?" 

The  Senator  waved  his  hand  in  dismissal  of  the 
objection. 

"I'll  have  Thomas  wire  the  Governor  that  the  sit- 
uation is  beyond  control.  This  town  is  miles  from 
nowhere,  and  there's  no  militia  within  easy  reach. 
The  State  will  be  glad  enough  to  be  saved  the  expense, 
especially  with  the  soldiers  close  by  at  Fort  Macken- 
zie. Besides,  you  know,  although  Wade's  ranch  is 
inside  the  State,  a  good  deal  of  his  land  is  Govern- 
ment land,  or  was  until  he  filed  on  it." 

When  Moran  had  left  the  room  in  a  much  easier 
frame  of  mind  than  he  came  into  it,  the  Senator  sat 
down  heavily  on  the  bed.  He  was  puffing  at  his  cigar 
and  thinking  intently,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the 
white,  startled  face  of  his  daughter  in  the  mirror  of 
the  bureau  across  the  room.  Whirling  about,  he  found 
her  standing  in  the  doorway  looking  at  him.  Rexhill 
had  never  before  been  physically  conscious  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  spine,  but  in  that  moment  of  discovery 
a  chill  crept  up  and  down  his  back,  for  her  expression 
told  him  that  she  had  heard  a  good  deal  of  his  con- 
versation with  Moran.  The  most  precious  thing  to 
him  in  life  was  the  respect  of  his  child;  more  precious 
even,  he  knew,  than  the  financial  security  for  which 
he  fought;  and  in  her  eyes  now  he  saw  that  he  was 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     121 

face  to  face  with  a  greater  battle  than  any  he  had 
ever  waged. 

"Father!" 

"What,  are  you  awake,  my  dear?" 

He  tried  hard  to  make  his  tone  cheery  and  natural, 
as  he  stood  up  and  wrapped  the  bathrobe  more  closely 
around  him. 

"I  heard  what  you  said  to  Race  Moran." 

Helen  came  into  the  room,  with  only  a  dressing 
wrapper  thrown  over  her  thin  night-dress,  and  dropped 
into  a  chair.  She  seemed  to  feel  that  her  statement 
of  the  fact  was  accusation  enough  in  itself,  and  waited 
for  him  to  answer. 

"You  shouldn't  have  listened,  Helen.  Moran  and 
I  were  discussing  private  business  matters,  and  I 
thought  that  you  were  asleep.  It  was  not  proper.  ..." 

Her  lips,  which  usually  framed  a  smile  for  him, 
curled  disdainfully  and  he  winced  in  spite  of  himself. 
He  avoided  the  keen  appraisement  of  her  gaze,  which 
seemed  now  to  size  him  up,  as  though  to  probe  his 
most  secret  thoughts,  whereas  before  she  had  always 
accepted  him  lovingly  on  faith. 

"Certainly,  they  were  not  matters  that  you  would 
want  an  outsider  to  hear,"  she  said,  in  a  hard  voice, 
"but  I  am  very  glad  that  7  listened,  father.  Glad" 
— her  voice  broke  a  little — "even  though  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  think  of  you  again  as  I  .  .  ." 

He  went  to  her  and  put  his  heavy  hands  on  her 
shoulders,  which  shrank  under  his  touch. 

"Now,  don't  say  things  that  you'll  regret,  Helen. 


122  HIDDEN  GOLD 

You're  the  only  girl  I  have,  and  I'm  the  only  father 
you  have,  so  we  ought  to  make  the  best  of  each  other, 
oughtn't  we,  eh?  You're  prone  to  hasty  judgments. 
Don't  let  them  run  away  with  you  now." 

"Don't  touch  me!"  He  made  way  for  her  as  she 
got  to  her  feet.  "Father," — she  tremblingly  faced 
him,  leaning  for  support  against  a  corner  of  the  bu- 
reau,— "I  heard  all  that  you  said  to  Mr.  Moran.  I 
don't  want  you  to  tell  me  what  we've  been  to  each 
other.  Don't  I  know  that?  Haven't  I  felt  it?" 

The  Senator  swallowed  hard,  touched  to  the  quick 
at  the  sight  of  her  suffering. 

"You  want  me  to  explain  it — more  fully?" 

"If  you  can.  Can  you?"  Her  lips  twitched  spas- 
modically. "I  want  you  to  tell  me  something  that 
will  let  me  continue  to  believe  that  you  are — that  you 
are —  Oh,  you  know  what  I  want  to  say."  Rexhill 
blushed  a  deep  purple,  despite  his  efforts  at  self-control. 
"But  what  can  you  say,  father;  what  can  you  say, 
after  what  I've  heard?" 

"You  mean  as  regards  young  Wade?  You  know, 
I  told  you  last  night  about  his  attack  on  the  Sheriff. 
You  know,  too" — the  blush  faded  as  the  Senator 
caught  his  stride  again — "that  I  said  I  meant  to  crush 
him.  You  even  agreed  with  me  that  he  should  be 
taught  a  lesson." 

"But  you  should  fight  fairly,"  Helen  retorted,  with 
a  quick  breath  of  aggression.  "Do  you  believe  that 
he  killed  Jensen?  Of  course  you  don't  The  mere 
idea  of  such  a  thing  is  absurd." 

"Perhaps  he  planned  it." 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     123 

"Father!"  The  scorn  in  her  tone  stung  him  like 
a  whip-lash.  "Did  he  plan  the  warrants,  too?  The 
warrant  that  hasn't  been  issued  yet,  although  you  are 
going  to  swear  that  it  was  issued  yesterday.  Did  he 
plan  that?" 

Once  in  his  political  career,  the  Senator  had  faced 
an  apparent  impasse  and  had  wormed  out  of  it 
through  tolerant  laughter.  He  had  laughed  so  long 
and  so  genially  that  the  very  naturalness  of  his  arti- 
fice had  won  the  day  for  him.  Men  thought  that  if 
he  had  had  a  guilty  conscience,  he  could  not  have 
seemed  so  carefree.  He  tried  the  same  trick  now 
with  his  daughter;  but  it  was  a  frightful  attempt  and 
he  gave  it  up  when  he  saw  its  ill-success. 

"See  here,  Helen,"  he  burst  out,  "it  is  ridiculous 
that  you  should  arraign  me  in  this  way.  It  is  true 
that  no  warrant  was  out  yesterday  for  Wade,  but  it 
is  also  true  that  the  Sheriff  intended  to  issue  one,  and 
it  was  only  through  my  influence  that  the  warrant 
was  not  issued.  Since  then  Wade,  besides  insulting 
me,  has  proved  himself  a  law-breaker.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  consequences  of  his  actions,  which 
rest  entirely  with  him.  You  have  overheard  some- 
thing that  you  were  not  intended  to  hear,  and  as 
is  usually  the  case,  have  drawn  wrong  conclusions. 
The  best  thing  you  can  do  now  is  to  try  to  forget 
what  you  have  heard  and  leave  the  matter  in  my 
hands,  where  it  belongs." 

He  had  spoken  dominantly  and  expected  her  to 
yield  to  his  will.  He  was  totally  unprepared,  well 
as  he  knew  her  spirit,  for  what  followed. 


124  HIDDEN  GOLD 

She  faced  him  with  glowing  eyes  and  her  trem- 
bling lips  straightened  into  a  thin,  firm  line  of  deter- 
mination. He  was  her  father,  and  she  had  always 
loved  him  for  what  she  had  felt  to  be  his  worth;  she 
had  given  him  the  chance  to  explain,  and  he  had  not 
availed  himself  of  it;  he  was  content  to  remain  con- 
victed in  her  eyes,  or  else,  which  was  more  likely, 
he  could  not  clear  himself.  She  realized  now  that, 
despite  what  she  had  said  in  pique,  only  the  night  be- 
fore, she  really  loved  Wade,  and  he,  at  least,  had  done 
nothing,  except  free  a  friend,  who,  like  himself,  was 
unjustly  accused.  She  could  not  condemn  him  for 
that,  any  more  than  she  could  forget  her  father's 
duplicity. 

"I  won't  forget  it!"  she  cried.  "If  necessary,  I 
will  go  to  Gordon  and  tell  him  what  you've  done.  I'll 
tell  it  to  every  one  in  Crawling  Water,  if  you  force 
me  to.  I  don't  want  to  because,  just  think  what  that 
would  mean  to  you!  But  you  shall  not  sacrifice  Gor- 
don. Yes,  I  mean  it — I'll  sacrifice  you  first!" 

"Don't  talk  so  loud,"  the  Senator  warned  her 
anxiously,  going  a  little  white.  "Don't  be  a  fool, 
Helen.  Why,  it  was  only  a  few  hours  ago  that  you 
said  Wade  should  be  punished." 

She  laughed  hysterically. 

"That  was  only  because  I  wanted  to  get  him  away 
from  this  awful  little  town.  I  thought  that  if  he 
were — punished — a  little,  if  he  was  made  a  laughing 
stock,  he  might  be  ashamed,  and  not  want  to  stay 
here.  Now,  I  see  that  I  was  wrong.  I  don't  blame 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     125 

him  for  fighting  with  every  weapon  he  can  find.  I 
hope  he  wins!" 

Rexhill,  who  had  been  really  frightened  at  her  hys- 
terical threat  of  exposure,  and  assailed  by  it  in  his 
pride  as  well,  felt  his  fear  begin  to  leave  him  and 
his  confidence  in  himself  return.  In  the  next  minute 
or  two,  he  thought  rapidly  and  to  considerable  pur- 
pose. In  the  past  he  had  resolutely  refused  to  use 
his  child  in  any  way  to  further  his  own  ends,  but 
the  present  occasion  was  an  emergency,  and  major  sur- 
gery is  often  demanded  in  a  crisis.  If  she  were 
willing,  as  she  said,  to  sacrifice  him,  he  felt  that  he 
might  properly  make  use  of  her  and  her  moods  to 
save  himself  and  her  as  well.  He  realized  that  if  she 
were  to  shout  abroad  through  Crawling  Water  the 
conversation  that  had  passed  between  him  and  Moran, 
the  likelihood  of  either  of  the  two  men  getting  out 
of  the  county  alive  would  be  extremely  remote. 

"So  that  was  it,  eh  ?  And  I  complimented  you  upon 
your  good  sense!"  His  laugh  was  less  of  an  effort 
now.  "Well,  doesn't  it  hold  good  now  as  well  as  it 
did  then?  Come,  my  dear,  sit  down  and  we'll  thresh 
this  out  quietly." 

She  shook  her  head  stubbornly,  but  the  woman  in 
her  responded  to  the  new  note  of  confidence  in  his 
voice,  and  she  waited  eagerly  for  what  he  had  to  say, 
hopeful  that  he  might  still  clear  himself. 

"You  tell  me  that  I  must  fight  fair.  Well,  I  usu- 
ally do  fight  that  way.  I'm  doing  so  now.  When  I 
I  spoke  yesterday  of  crushing  Wade,  I  meant  it  and 


126  HIDDEN  GOLD 

I  still  mean  it.  But  there  are  limits  to  what  I  want 
to  see  happen  to  him;  for  one  thing,  I  don't  want  to 
see  him  hung  for  this  Jensen  murder,  even  if  he's 
guilty." 

"You  know  he  isn't  guilty." 

"I  think  he  isn't."  Her  eyes  lighted  up  at  this 
admission.  "But  he  must  be  tried  for  the  crime, 
there's  no  dodging  that.  The  jury  will  decide  the 
point;  we  can't  But  even  if  he  should  be  convicted, 
I  shouldn't  want  to  see  him  hung.  Why,  we've  been 
good  friends,  all  of  us.  I — I  like  him,  even  though  he 
did  jump  on  to  me  yesterday.  That  was  why" — he 
leaned  forward,  impelled  to  the  falsehood  that  hung 
upon  his  tongue  by  the  desperate  necessity  of  saving 
himself  his  daughter's  love  and  respect — "I  arranged 
with  Moran  to  have  the  boy  arrested  on  such  a  war- 
rant. He  is  bound  to  be  arrested" — Rexhill  struck 
the  table  with  his  fist — "and  if  he  should  need  a  basis 
for  an  appeal  after  conviction,  he  could  hardly  have 
a  better  one  than  the  evidence  of  conspiracy,  which 
a  crooked  warrant  would  afford.  I  wanted  to  give 
him  that  chance  because  I  realized  that  he  had  ene- 
mies here  and  that  his  trial  might  not  be  a  fair  one. 
When  the  right  moment  came  I  was  going  to  have 
that  warrant  looked  into." 

"Father!" 

Helen  dropped  on  her  knees  before  him,  her  eye- 
lashes moist  with  tears  and  her  voice  vibrant  with 
happiness. 

"Why  didn't  you  explain  all  that  before,  Father? 
I  knew  that  there  must  be  some  explanation.  I  felt 


THE  SENATOR  GETS  BUSY     127 

that  I  couldn't  have  loved  you  all  my  life  for  noth- 
ing. But  do  you  really  believe  that  any  jury  would 
convict  Gordon  of  such  a  thing?" 

"I  hope  not." 

Never  had  Senator  Rexhill  felt  himself  more  hope- 
lessly a  scoundrel  than  now  as  he  smoothed  her  hair 
from  her  forehead;  but  he  told  himself  that  the  pain 
of  this  must  be  less  than  to  be  engulfed  in  bankruptcy, 
or  exposure,  which  would  submerge  them  all.  More- 
over, he  promised  himself  that  if  future  events  bore 
too  heavily  against  Wade,  he  should  be  saved  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  The  thought  of  this  made  the  Sen- 
ator's position  less  hard. 

"I  hope  not,  Helen,"  he  repeated.  "Of  course,  the 
serving  of  the  warrant  at  this  time  will  help  my  own 
interests,  but  since  a  warrant  must  be  served,  anyway, 
I  feel  justified,  under  the  circumstances,  in  availing 
myself  of  this  advantage." 

"Y-e-s,  of  course,"  Helen  agreed  doubtfully.  "Oh, 
it  is  all  too  bad.  I  wish  none  of  us  had  ever  heard 
of  Crawling  Water." 

"Well,  maybe  the  Grand  Jury  will  not  indict  him, 
feeling  runs  so  strong  here,"  her  father  continued, 
and  she  took  fresh  hope  at  this  prospect.  "But,  any- 
way, he  will  feel  the  pressure  before  all  is  done  with, 
and  very  likely  he'll  be  only  too  glad  to  dispose  of 
his  ranch  and  say  good-by  to  Wyoming  when  he  is 
free  to  do  as  he  pleases.  Then  you  and  he  can  make 
a  fresh  start,  eh?  All  will  be  sunshine  and  roses 
then,  maybe,  forever  and  aye." 

"That's  what  I  want  to  do — get  away  from  here; 


128  HIDDEN  GOLD 

and  that  was  all  I  meant  when  I  said  to  punish  Gor- 
don." 

The  Senator  patted  her  cheek  tenderly  and  drew 
a  deep  breath  of  relief. 

"By  the  way,  father,"  Helen  said  casually,  when 
she  started  back  to  her  room,  a  little  later,  "I  saw 
Miss  Purnell  on  the  street  yesterday.  You  know, 
she  was  out  when  Gordon  took  me  to  see  her." 

"Well,  is  she  dangerous?" 

Helen  looked  at  him  in  amusement,  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TANGLED   THREADS 

RELIEVED  though  Helen  was  to  some  extent,  by  her 
father's  assurances  and  by  the  explanation  which  he 
had  given,  she  was  far  from  being  in  a  tranquil  frame 
of  mind. 

She  knew  that  whatever  might  be  the  outcome  of 
the  graver  charge  against  Gordon,  he  would  prob- 
ably have  to  suffer  for  his  release  of  Santry,  and 
she  found  herself  wishing  more  than  ever  that  her 
lover  had  never  seen  the  West.  What  little  it  had 
contributed  to  his  character  was  not  worth  what  it 
had  cost  already  and  would  cost  in  the  future.  Surely, 
his  manhood  was  alive  enough  not  to  have  needed  the 
development  of  such  an  environment,  and  if  his  lot 
had  been  cast  in  the  East,  she  could  have  had  him 
always  with  her.  A  long  letter,  which  she  had  re- 
cently received  from  Maxwell  Frayne,  recounting  the 
gayeties  of  New  York  and  Washington,  made  her 
homesick.  Although  she  could  scarcely  think  of  the 
two  men  at  the  same  moment,  still,  as  she  sat  in  the 
crude  little  hotel,  she  would  have  welcomed  a  little 
of  young  Frayne's  company  for  the  sake  of  contrast. 
She  was  yearning  for  the  flesh-pots  of  her  own  Egypt. 

From  the  news  of  the  fight  at  the  ranch,  which 

had  been  brought  to  town  by  the  messenger,  she  gath- 

129 


130  HIDDEN  GOLD 

ered  that  Wade  meant  to  intrench  himself  on  the  ranch 
and  defy  the  law,  which  would  probably  embroil  him 
in  other  criminal  acts.  Crawling  Water,  too,  was  rap- 
idly filling  up  with  armed  cattlemen,  who,  she  thought, 
would  do  Gordon's  cause  more  harm  than  good.  To- 
ward afternoon,  word  came  of  a  bloody  skirmish  on 
the  Trowbridge  range,  between  a  number  of  his  punch- 
ers and  some  of  Moran's  hired  men,  and  that  added 
to  the  tension  among  those  crowding  the  main  street. 

From  the  parlor  windows  of  the  hotel  she  watched 
what  was  going  on  outside,  not  without  alarm,  so 
high  did  feeling  seem  to  run.  The  threats  of  the  ranch 
men,  handed  about  amongst  themselves  but  loud 
enough  for  her  to  catch  a  word  now  and  then,  made 
her  wonder  if  the  town  was  really  safe  for  her  father, 
or  for  herself.  A  storm  was  coming  up,  and  the  ris- 
ing wind  whipped  the  flimsy  lace  curtains  of  the  win- 
dows and  kept  them  fluttering  like  flags.  The  distant 
muttering  of  the  thunder  and  an  occasional  sharp  flash 
of  lightning  wore  on  her  tired  nerves  until  she  could 
sit  still  no  longer. 

For  the  sake  of  something  to  do,  she  went  up  to 
her  room,  intending  to  write  some  letters  there,  but 
her  bed  had  not  been  made  up,  so  she  returned  to  the 
parlor  with  her  fountain  pen  and  writing-pad.  To 
Maxwell  Frayne  she  wrote  a  brief  note,  which  was 
not  likely  to  cheer  him  much.  She  had  become  so  in 
the  habit  of  taking  her  moods  out  on  Maxwell  that 
to  do  so,  even  with  a  pen,  was  second  nature  to  her. 
She  despised  him  for  his  tolerance  of  her  tyranny, 
never  realizing  that  he  reserved  to  himself  the  privi- 


TANGLED  THREADS  131 

lege  of  squaring  their  account,  if  she  should  ever  be- 
come his  wife. 

Then  to  ease  her  mind  of  the  strain  it  bore,  she 
wrote  at  some  length  to  her  mother;  not  telling  the 
whole  truth  but  enough  of  it  to  calm  her  own  nervous- 
ness. She  said  nothing  of  the  conversation  she  had 
overheard,  but  went  fully  into  the  scene  between  her 
father  and  Gordon  Wade.  With  a  little  smile  hov- 
ering on  her  lips,  she  wrote  dramatically  of  the  Sen- 
ator's threat  to  crush  the  ranchman.  "That  will  please 
mother,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  her  pen  raced  over 
the  paper.  "Gordon  felt,  you  see,  that" — she  turned 
a  page — "father  knew  Santry  had  not  killed  Jensen, 
and  .  .  ." 

The  hotel-keeper  poked  his  head  in  at  the  doorway. 

"Two  ladies  to  see  you,  Miss,"  he  announced.  "Mrs. 
Purnell  and  daughter." 

He  gave  Helen  no  chance  to  avoid  the  visit,  for 
with  the  obviousness  of  the  plains,  he  had  brought  the 
visitors  upstairs  with  him,  and  so,  blotting  what  she 
had  written  and  weighing  down  her  letter  against 
the  breeze,  she  arose  to  greet  them. 

"This  is  good  of  you,  Mrs.  Purnell,  and  I  am  so 
glad  to  meet  your  daughter.  I've  been  lonely  and 
blue  all  day  and  now  you  have  taken  pity  on  me." 

Mrs.  Purnell  shot  an  "I  told  you  so"  glance  at 
Dorothy,  which  made  that  young  lady  smile  to  her- 
self. 

"I  was  sorry  not  to  have  been  at  home  when  you 
called,  Miss  Rexhill." 

The  two  girls  looked  at  each  other,  each  carefully 


132  HIDDEN  GOLD 

veiling  hostility,  Dorothy  beneath  a  natural  sweetness 
of  disposition,  and  Helen  with  the  savoir  faire  of  so- 
cial experience.  Each  felt  and  was  stung  by  a  reali- 
zation of  the  other's  points  of  advantage.  Dorothy 
saw  a  perfection  of  well-groomed  poise,  such  as  she 
could  hardly  hope  to  attain,  and  Helen  was  impressed 
Avith  her  rival's  grace  and  natural  beauty. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"But  aren't  we  disturbing  you?"  Mrs.  Purnell  asked, 
with  a  glance  toward  the  writing  materials. 

"Indeed,  you  are  not.  I  was  writing  some  duty 
letters  to  kill  time.  I'm  only  too  glad  to  stop  be- 
cause I'm  really  in  no  writing  mood  and  I  am  most 
anxious  to  hear  what  is  going  on  outside.  Isn't  it 
dreadful  about  Mr.  Wade?" 

"You  mean  his  helping  Santry?"  Dorothy  asked, 
with  a  little  touch  of  pride  which  did  not  escape  her 
hostess. 

"Partly  that;  but  more  because  he  is  sure  to  be 
arrested  himself.  I've  been  terribly  worried." 

Dorothy  glanced  at  her  keenly  and  smiled. 

"I  have  an  idea  that  they  may  find  Gordon  hard 
to  arrest,"  she  remarked. 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Purnell  put  in.  "He  is  so  popular, 
Still,  I  agree  with  you  that  there  is  every  cause  for 
anxiety."  The  good  lady  did  not  have  a  chance  every 
day  to  agree  with  the  daughter  of  a  United  States 
Senator,  and  the  opportunity  was  not  to  be  overlooked. 

"The  people  feel  so  strongly  that  Santry  should 
never  have  been  arrested  that  they  are  not  likdy  to 


TANGLED  THREADS  133 

let  Gordon  be  taken  just  for  freeing  him,"  Dorothy 
explained. 

Helen  shook  her  head  with  every  indication  of 
tremulous  worry. 

"But  it  isn't  that  alone,"  she  insisted.  "He's  to  be 
arrested  for  the  Jensen  shooting.  That  was  why  the 
posse  waited  at  his  ranch  after  Santry  had  been 
caught." 

"For  the  Jensen  shooting?"  Dorothy  showed  her 
amazement  very  plainly.  "Are  you  sure?"  she  de- 
manded, and  when  Helen  nodded,  exclaimed :  "Why, 
how  utterly  absurd !  I  understood  that  you  were  with 
him  yourself  when  he  received  word  of  it?" 

"I  was,"  Helen  admitted.  "He  is  supposed  only 
to  have  planned  the  crime,  I  believe.  He's  supposed 
to  have  been  the  principal,  isn't  that  what  they  call 
it?"  She  appealed  to  Mrs.  Purnell. 

"Oh,  but  do  you  think  he  could  do  such  a  thing?" 
Mrs.  Purnell  asked,  much  shocked. 

"I  don't  know.     I  hope  not." 

"I  do  know!"  Dorothy  burst  out  emphatically.  "I 
know  Gordon  Wade  too  well  to  think  for  one  minute 
that  he  did  it;  and  every  true  friend  of  his  ought 
to  speak  out  at  once  and  say  the  same  thing." 

The  challenge  in  her  voice  was  unmistakable,  and 
Mrs.  Purnell  moved  uneasily  in  her  chair.  She 
glanced  anxiously  at  Helen  and  was  relieved  to  see 
that  the  latter  had  lost  none  of  her  poise. 

"I  hope  so  as  fully  as  you  do,"  Helen  said  sweetly, 
"but  things  move  so  fast  here  in  these  mountains  that 
I  find  it  hard  to  keep  up  with  them." 


134  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Of  course,"  Mrs.  Purnell  soothed,  with  a  troubled 
look  at  her  daughter. 

"Who  swore  out  the  warrant,  I  wonder?"  Doro- 
thy asked,  in  a  more  tranquil  tone,  a  bit  ashamed  of 
her  outburst.  "Was  it  Mr.  Moran  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Helen  answered.  "I  sup- 
posed it  was  the  Sheriff.  Why  should  Mr.  Moran  have 
anything  to  do  with  it?" 

"Because  he  seems  to  have  been  concerned  in  all 
the  trouble  we  have  had,"  Dorothy  replied  calmly. 
"This  was  a  peaceful  little  community  until  Mr.  Moran 
moved  into  it." 

Helen  made  no  direct  reply  to  this,  and  for  awhile 
Dorothy  allowed  her  mother  to  sustain  the  conversa- 
tion. She  had  no  doubt  but  that  Moran  was  back  of 
it  all,  and  she  was  thinking  of  what  Lem  Trowbridge 
had  said;  that  if  they  could  only  "get  something  on" 
Moran  and  the  Senator,  a  solution  of  the  whole  prob- 
lem would  be  at  hand.  She  thought  that  she  had 
•detected  a  defensive  note  in  Helen's  voice,  and  she  was 
wondering  why  it  should  have  been  there. 

"But  you  haven't  answered  my  question  yet  about 
Mr.  Moran,"  Helen  presently  challenged  her.  "You 
seemed  to  have  something  more  in  mind  than  what 
you  said.  Would  you  mind  telling  me?" 

Dorothy  looked  steadily  but  not  offensively  at  her. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,  Miss  Rexhill.  I  was  only  think- 
ing that  he  has  gone  rather  far:  been  very  zealous  in 
your  father's  interests.  Probably  .  .  ." 

"Why,  Dorothy — !"  her  mother  interposed,  in  a 
shocked  tone. 


TANGLED  THREADS  135 

"Miss  Rexhill  asked  me,  mother,  and  you  know  that 
I  always  speak  frankly." 

"Yes,  do  go  on,"  Helen  urged,  with  even  an  added 
touch  of  sweetness  in  her  manner.  "I  really  want  to 
know.  I  am  so  out  of  touch  with  things  here,  so 
ill  informed." 

"Well,  you  can  sit  here  at  the  windows  and  learn 
all  you  wish  to  know.  There  isn't  a  man  in  this  town 
that  would  see  Gordon  arrested  and  not  fight  to  free 
him.  Feeling  is  running  high  here  now.  You  know, 
it's  something  like  a  violin  string.  You  can  stretch 
it  just  so  far  and  then  it  snaps.  That's  all." 

"Dorothy,  I'm  really  mortified  that  you  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  you've  no  occasion  to  be,  Mrs.  Purnell,"  Helen 
interrupted,  smiling.  "I  asked  for  the  plain  truth, 
you  know." 

Mrs.  Purnell  laughed  feebly. 

"Dorothy  has  known  Mr.  Wade  so  long  and  we 
both  like  him  so  well  that  she  can't  bear  to  hear  a 
word  against  him,"  she  explained.  Her  sense  of  Use 
majeste  was  running  away  with  her  judgment,  and 
Dorothy  shot  an  irritated  glance  at  her.  "Not  that 
I  think  he  did  it  at  all,  you  understand ;  but  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  perfectly,"  declared  Helen,  with  rising  color 
and  an  equal  feeling  of  annoyance.  "Oh,  dear  me,  do 
look  at  my  poor  letters !" 

A  gust  of  wind,  stronger  than  any  that  had  come 
before,  had  swept  the  weight  to  the  floor  and  scat- 
tered letter  paper,  envelopes,  and  blotter  about  the 
room.  Helen  was  just  able  to  catch  the  writing-pad 
as  it  slid  to  the  floor,  while  Dorothy  and  her  mother 


136  HIDDEN  GOLD 

laughingly  salvaged  the  rest.  The  incident  happily 
relieved  the  awkward  drift  of  their  conversation,  and 
they  all  felt  relieved. 

"Well,  now,  did  you  ever?"  Mrs.  Purnell  ejacu- 
lated, looking  at  the  lithographed  blotter,  which  she 
held  in  her  hand.  "I  declare  this  picture  of  a  little 
girl  reminds  me  of  Dorothy  when  she  was  that  age." 

"Oh,  mother!" 

"Really?"  Helen  broke  in.  "How  interesting.  I 
hadn't  noticed  the  picture.  Do  let  me  see." 

To  be  courteous,  she  agreed  with  Mrs.  Purnell  that 
there  was  a  strong  likeness,  which  Dorothy  laugh- 
ingly denied. 

"I  guess  I  know  what  you  looked  like  when  you 
were  five  better  than  you  do,"  Mrs.  Purnell  declared. 
"It's  the  image  of  you  as  you  were  then,  and  as  Miss 
Rexhill  says,  there  is  a  facial  resemblance  even  yet." 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  take  it  with  you,  then," 
Helen  suggested,  to  Mrs.  Purnell's  delight,  who  ex- 
plained that  the  only  picture  she  had  of  Dorothy  at 
that  age  had  been  lost. 

"If  it  wouldn't  deprive  you?" 

"No,  indeed.  You  must  take  it.  I  have  a  large 
blotter  in  my  writing-pad,  so  I  really  don't  need  that 
one  at  all.  So  many  such  things  are  sent  to  father 
that  we  always  have  more  than  we  can  use  up." 

When  Dorothy  and  her  mother  left  the  hotel,  urged 
homeward  by  the  first  big  drops  of  the  coming  rain, 
Mrs.  Purnell  tucked  the  blotter  in  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  happy  to  have  the  suggestion  of  the  picture 


TANGLED  THREADS  137 

to  recall  the  days  when  her  husband's  presence  cheered 
them  all.  Her  world  had  been  a  small  one,  and  little 
things  like  this  helped  to  make  it  bright. 

Soon  afterward  the  supper  bell  rang,  and  during 
the  meal  Helen  told  the  Senator,  who  seemed  some- 
what morose  and  preoccupied,  of  the  visit  she  had 
had. 

"Sure  tiresome  people.  Goodness!  I  was  glad  to 
see  them  at  first  because  I  thought  they  would  help 
me  to  pass  the  afternoon,  but  instead  I  was  bored  to 
death.  That  little  minx  is  crazy  about  Gordon,  though. 
I  could  see  that." 

"Urn !" 

"And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  she  just  fits  into  the 
scenery  here,  and  I  don't.  You  know,  father,  I  never 
could  wax  enthusiastic  over  shooing  the  cows  to  roost 
and  things  like  that." 

"Urn !" 

"I  feel  like  a  deaf  person  at  a  concert,  here  in  this 
town." 

This  remark  brought  a  wry  laugh  from  her  father, 
and  Helen  smiled. 

"Well,  I've  made  you  laugh,  anyway,"  she  said. 
"You're  frightfully  grouchy  this  evening." 

"My  dear,  I'm  busy,  very  busy,  and  I  haven't  time 
to  think  of  trifles.  I'll  be  at  it  most  of  the  night." 

"Oh,  shall  you?  Goodness,  that's  cheerful.  I  wish 
I  had  never  come  to  this  awful  little  place.  I  suppose 
I  must  go  ba-:k  to  my  letters  for  something  to  do. 
And,  father,"  she  added,  as  he  lingered  with  her  for 


138  HIDDEN  GOLD 

a  moment  in  the  hallway,  "the  Purnells  seem  to  think 
that  you  and  Mr.  Moran  had  better  not  go  too  far. 
The  people  here  are  very  much  wrought  up." 

He  patted  her  shoulder  affectionately. 

"You  leave  all  that  to  me  and  go  write  to  your 
mother." 

There  was  nothing  else  for  her  to  do,  so  she  re- 
turned to  the  parlor.  When  she  had  finished  her  let- 
ters, she  idly  picked  up  a  week-old  copy  of  a  Denver 
newspaper  which  lay  on  the  table  and  glanced  through 
the  headlines.  She  was  yawningly  thinking  of  bed, 
when  Moran  came  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  are  you  and  father  through  at  last?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "That  is,  we're 
through  upstairs.  I'm  on  my  way  over  to  the  office 
to  straighten  up  a  few  loose  ends  before  I  turn  in. 
There's  no  rest  for  the  weary,  you  know." 

"Don't  let  me  keep  you,  then,"  she  said  dryly,  as 
he  lingered.  "I'm  going  to  bed." 

"You're  not  keeping  me.  I'm  keeping  myself." 
He  quite  understood  her  motive,  but  he  was  not  thin- 
skinned,  and  he  had  learned  that  he  had  to  make  his 
opportunities  with  her.  "Your  father  told  me  you 
were  getting  anxious." 

"Not  anxious,  tired." 

"Things  are  getting  a  little  warm  here,  but  be- 
fore there's  any  real  danger  we  expect  to  have  the 
soldiers  here  to  take  charge." 

He  rather  ostentatiously  displayed  his  bandaged 
wrist,  hoping  to  win  her  sympathy,  but  she  professed 


TANGLED  THREADS  139 

none.  Instead,  she  yawned  and  tapped  her  lips  with 
her  fingers,  and  her  indifference  piqued  him. 

"I  was  talking  with  Dorothy  Purnell  this  afternoon," 
Helen  finally  remarked,  eyeing  him  lazily,  "and  she 
seems  to  be  of  the  opinion  that  you'll  have  hard  work 
arresting  Gordon  Wade.  I  rather  hope  that  you  do." 

"Well — "  He  teetered  a  little  on  his  feet  and 
stroked  his  mustache.  "We  may  have,  at  that.  Miss 
Purnell  is  popular  and  she  can  make  a  lot  of  trouble  for 
us  if  she  wants  to.  Being  very  fond  of  Wade,  she's 
likely  to  do  all  that  she  can." 

"Would  she  really  have  so  much  influence?"  Helen 
asked,  carefully  guarding  her  tongue. 

He  laughed  softly  as  though  amused  at  the  thought. 

"Influence?  Evidently  you  don't  realize  what  a 
good  looking  girl  means  in  a  frontier  town  like  this. 
She's  part  sister,  part  mother,  sweetheart  and  a  breath 
from  Heaven  to  every  man  in  Crawling  Water.  On 
that  account,  with  one  exception,  I've  had  to  import 
every  last  one  of  my  men.  The  exception  is  Tug 
Bailey,  who's  beyond  hope  where  women  are  con- 
cerned. To  all  the  rest,  Dorothy  Purnell  is  'Wade's 
girl,'  and  they  wouldn't  fight  against  her,  or  him,  for 
all  the  money  in  Wyoming." 

He  was  watching  her  keenly  as  he  spoke,  and  was 
gratified  to  see  spots  of  color  spring  to  her  cheeks. 

"How  interesting!"  Helen  could  make  her  tone 
indifferent  to  the  point  of  languor,  but  she  could  not 
keep  the  gleam  of  jealousy  out  of  her  eyes.  "Gor- 
don is  a  fortunate  man  to  have  such  an  able  ally, 
isn't  he?" 


I4o  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"The  finish  will  decide  that,  I  should  say,"  Moran 
replied  sneeringly.  "She  may  stir  up  more  trouble 
than  all  her  friends  can  take  care  of." 

For  all  of  her  social  schooling,  Helen  was  not 
proof  against  the  sneer  in  his  words,  even  though  she 
fully  saw  through  his  purpose  to  wound  her.  She 
felt  her  temper  rising,  and  with  it  came  curiosity  to 
learn  how  far  the  relationship  between  Wade  and 
Dorothy  Purnell  had  really  gone.  That  Moran  would 
exaggerate  it,  she  felt  sure,  for  he  had  his  own  ends 
to  gain,  but  possibly  from  out  of  his  exaggeration  she 
could  glean  some  truth.  Yet  she  did  not  want  to  go 
so  far  in  her  anger  as  to  gratify  his  malice,  and  this 
placed  her  in  something  of  a  dilemma. 

"I  don't  believe  that  she  is  'Wade's  girl/  as  you 
call  her,  at  all,"  she  said  coldly.  "They  may  be  good 
friends,  and  if  so,  I'm  glad;  but  they  are  nothing 
more  than  that.  There  is  no  'understanding'  between 
them." 

Moran  carelessly  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction 
of  the  rain-swept  street,  illuminated  now  and  then  by 
the  lightning. 

"Ask  any  one  in  Crawling  Water." 

"That  sounds  well,  but  it's  impracticable,  even  if  I 
wanted  to  do  it.  I  prefer  to  draw  my  own  conclu- 
sions." 

The  agent  drew  up  a  chair  with  his  well  hand,  and 
sat  down  with  that  easy  familiarity  that  came  so 
natural  to  him.  Helen  watched  him,  lazily  imperti- 
nent. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Helen," 


TANGLED  THREADS  141 

he  began,  "and  this  looks  like  a  good  chance  to  me. 
You've  been  foolish  about  Wade.  Yes,  I  know  that 
you're  thinking  that  I've  got  my  own  ends  to  further, 
which  is  true  enough.  I  have.  I  admit  it.  But  what 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  is  true,  also.  Fortune's  been 
playing  into  my  hand  here  lately.  Now,  if  you'll  be 
reasonable,  you'll  probably  be  happier.  Shall  I  go 
on?" 

"Wild  horses  couldn't  stop  you,"  she  answered, 
amused  that  he  seemed  flattered.  "But  if  we  were 
in  Washington,  I  fancy  I'd  have  you  shown  out." 

"We're  not  in  Washington,  my  dear  girl."  He 
wagged  his  finger  at  her,  in  the  way  her  father  had, 
to  give  emphasis  to  his  words.  "That's  where  you've 
made  your  mistake  with  Wade.  We're  all  just  plain 
men  and  women  out  here  in  the  cattle  country,  and 
I'm  talking  its  language,  not  the  language  of  drawing- 
rooms."  He  was  himself  a  little  surprised  at  the  swift 
dilation  of  her  pupils,  but  his  words  had  probed  deeper 
than  he  knew,  reminding  her  as  they  did  of  the  truth 
which  she  had  so  fully  realized  that  afternoon.  "Wade 
liked  you — loved  you,  maybe,  in  Chicago,  but  this  ain't 
the  East.  He  cares  nothing  for  you  here,  and  he'd 
never  be  happy  away  from  here.  You  know  that  pic- 
ture of  yourself  that  you  sent  to  him?"  She  nodded. 
"Well,  we  found  it  on  the  floor  of  his  room,  covered 
with  dust.  He  hadn't  even  troubled  to  pick  it  up  from 
where  it  must  have  fallen  weeks  ago." 

She  looked  at  him  dumbly,  unable  to  keep  her  lips 
from  twitching.  He  knew  that  she  believed  him,  and 
he  was  glad;  that  she  had  to  believe  him,  because 


142  HIDDEN  GOLD 

his  story  bore  the  impress  of  truth.  It  was  not  some- 
thing that  he  could  have  made  up. 

"And  while  your  picture  was  lying  there,  Wade  and 
this  Purnell  girl  were  making  goo-goo  eyes  at  each 
other.  Why,  it  was  she  that  rode  out  to  warn  him 
that  we  were  after  Santry."  Helen's  lips  curled.  "I 
can't  swear  to  that,  but  I  heard  it  and  I  believe  it  my- 
self. They  must've  met  on  the  trail  somewhere  in 
the  dark,  and  you  can  bet  he  was  grateful.  I  don't 
imagine  that  they  stopped  at  a  hand-shake.  I  imagine 
they  kissed,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  tired,  worn  out,"  Helen  declared,  forcing 
a  smile  so  artificial  that  it  could  not  deceive  him.  "Do 
go,  please.  I  am  going  upstairs  to  bed." 

"Wait  one  minute."  He  put  out  his  injured  arm, 
and,  thinking  that  he  reached  for  her  hand,  she  brushed 
it  aside,  accidentally  striking  his  wound. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  hurt  you,"  she  said  coldly,  as  he 
winced. 

"Maybe  I've  hurt  you  worse,"  he  persisted,  with  a 
tenderness  that  was  intolerable  to  her,  "but,  if  I  have, 
your  wound'll  heal  just  as  mine  will."  He  gently 
pushed  her  back  into  her  chair  as  she  started  to  get 
up. 

"Are  you  making  love  to  me,  Race?"  Under  the 
ridicule  of  her  tone  his  face  darkened.  "If  you  are, 
it's  insufferable  in  you." 

"Go  easy,  now,"  he  warned  her.  "I'll  not  be  made 
a  fool  of." 

She  did  not  heed  his  warning.  Glad  to  have  him 
on  the  rack,  where  she  had  been,  she  laughed  at  him. 


TANGLED  THREADS  143 

"Haven't  you  sense  enough  to  know  that,  for  that 
very  reason,  I'd  refuse  to  believe  anything  you  might 
say  against  Gordon  Wade?  I  know  how  you  hate 
him.  Listen  to  me.  Oh,  this  is  absurd!"  She  laughed 
again  at  the  picture  he  made.  "You've  pursued  me 
for  months  with  your  attentions,  although  I've  done 
everything  but  encourage  you.  Now  I  want  you  to 
know  that  I  shall  never  again  even  listen  to  you.  What 
Gordon  is  to  Dorothy  Purnell  is  for  him,  and  her, 
and  perhaps  for  me  to  be  interested  in,  but  not  for 
you.  Now  I'm  going  to  bed.  Good  night!" 

He  caught  her  by  the  arm  as  she  stood  up,  but  im- 
mediately released  her,  and  stepped  in  front  of  her 
instead. 

"Hold  on,"  he  begged,  with  a  smile  that  meant  won- 
derful mastery  of  himself.  "I've  got  feelings,  you 
know.  You  needn't  walk  on  them.  I  love  you,  and 
I  want  you.  What  I  want,  I  usually  get.  I  mean  to 
get  you."  She  looked  up  at  him  with  heavy-lidded 
insolence.  "I  may  fail,  but  if  I  do,  it'll  be  one  more 
notch  in  my  account  against  Wade.  I  know  now 
where  to  strike  him — to  hurt." 

"You  be  reasonable,  and  you'll  be  happier,"  she  re- 
torted. "May  I  go?" 

"Certainly."  He  stepped  out  of  her  way.  "Good 
night." 


CHAPTER  XII 

DESPERATE   MEASURES 

IF  Moran  or  Helen,  early  in  their  conversation,  had 
looked  out  of  the  window  of  the  hotel,  during  one  of 
those  vivid  lightning  flashes,  they  might  have  seen  a 
woman  stealthily  approaching  the  agent's  office  across 
the  street.  Taking  advantage  of  the  deeper  shadows 
and  of  the  darkness  between  lightning  flashes,  she 
stole  to  the  rear  of  the  building,  where  she  found  an 
unlatched  window,  through  which  she  scrambled  with 
the  agility  of  a  boy. 

Within,  the  place  was  pitch  dark,  but  like  one  amid 
familiar  surroundings,  she  crossed  the  hall  and  found 
the  room  she  sought;  the  office  room  now  of  Moran, 
but  formerly  occupied  by  Simon  Barsdale.  She  bent 
over  the  big  safe,  and  was  twirling  the  combination 
knob  in  her  slim,  cold  fingers,  when  she  was  startled 
by  a  noise  in  the  hallway  outside.  With  a  gasp  of 
fright,  she  stood  motionless,  listening  acutely,  but 
there  was  no  further  sound;  reassured,  she  produced 
a  bit  of  candle,  which  she  lighted  and  placed  to  one 
side  of  the  safe,  so  that  the  flame  was  shaded  from 
the  windows.  She  was  in  the  act  of  manipulating  the 
combination  again  when,  her  whole  body  rigid  with 
fear,  she  stood  erect  once  more,  holding  her  breath 
and  striving  for  self-control.  There  was  no  doubt 

144 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  145 

about  the  noise  this  time.  Some  one  had  entered  the 
adjoining  room. 

Hastily  snuffing  out  the  candle,  she  crouched  into 
the  darkness  of  a  corner.  She  never  doubted  that  the 
newcomer  was  Race  Moran,  or  that  he  would  almost 
immediately  discover  her.  She  tried  to  summon 
enough  resolution  to  bluff  things  through  when  the 
moment  of  discovery  should  come. 

But,  as  the  seconds  slipped  by  and  the  lights  were 
not  turned  on,  she  began  to  regain  her  courage.  Per- 
haps Moran  was  sitting  in  the  dark  of  the  other  room, 
smoking  and  thinking,  and  perhaps  she  could  com- 
plete her  task  without  being  caught,  if  she  moved 
swiftly  and  silently.  She  bent  again  over  the  shining 
knob,  at  the  same  time  watching  in  the  direction  of 
the  door,  which  was  still  closed  as  she  had  left  it.  It 
was  difficult  to  work  the  lock  in  the  dark,  and,  as 
she  became  engrossed  with  her  purpose,  she  ceased 
temporarily  to  listen  acutely.  She  had  just  succeeded 
in  effecting  the  combination,  when  something  touched 
her  side. 

"Don't  move!"  a  voice  hissed  behind  her.  "I'll 
shoot  if  you  do!" 

She  wanted  to  cry  out,  "Please  don't  shoot!"  but 
her  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  her  mouth,  which 
had  suddenly  gone  dry.  She  had  fallen  forward  against 
the  door  of  the  safe,  and  was  curiously  conscious 
how  cold  it  felt.  She  was  on  the  point  of  fainting, 
when  in  a  rush  of  relief  it  dawned  upon  her  that  she 
knew  the  voice;  it  was  not  Moran's. 

"Gordon!"  she  cried   joyously,  finding  the  use  of 


146  HIDDEN  GOLD 

her  tongue  as  quickly  as  she  had  lost  it,  and  scram- 
bling to  her  feet.  "It's  me — Dorothy!" 

With  an  exclamation  as  joyous  as  her  own  and 
equally  surprised,  he  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  peer- 
ing through  the  darkness  into  her  face. 

"Dorothy!  What  the  ...  ?"  A  lightning  flash 
revealed  them  clearly  to  each  other.  "I  told  you  not 
to  try  this." 

"But  what  are  you  doing  in  town?"  She  clutched 
his  arms,  overcome  by  a  fear  greater  than  that  for 
her  own  safety.  "Gordon,  Gordon,  you  must  not  stay 
here.  There's  a  warrant  out  for  you — no,  no,  not  for 
that — for  the  Jensen  shooting.  You'll  be  arrested 
on  sight." 

"What?"  He  stared  at  her,  amazed,  and  she  nod- 
ded. "So  that's  their  game  now,  eh?  They've 
stooped  even  to  that.  By  God !"  He  struck  a  match. 

"Be  careful,"  she  warned  him  instantly.  "The 
light — put  it  out.  They'll  see  it  from  the  street.  But, 
oh,  Gordon,  why  did  you  come?" 

He  thrilled  at  the  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"To  find  out  what  Moran  is  hiding  here ;  and  you're 
after  the  same  thing,  of  course." 

"Yes." 

Impulsively,  he  squeezed  her  fingers,  until  she  could 
have  cried  out  in  pain  but  for  the  sweetness  of  it; 
there  are  some  agonies  which  do  not  hurt.  Her  throat 
swelled  with  joy,  her  breast  heaved,  and  her  eyelids 
fluttered.  She  was  grateful  for  the  darkness,  which 
hid  these  outward  signs  of  love  from  him.  She 
blushed;  she  could  feel  the  warm  tide  pulsing  in  her 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  147 

temples;  and  she  laughed  brokenly  from  sheer  happi- 
ness. 

"You  shouldn't  have  taken  such  a  risk,  Dorothy. 
I  told  you  not  to." 

"You're  taking  that  risk,  Gordon,  and  more." 

"That's  different.  It's  so  dark  a  night,  I  thought 
I'd  chance  it." 

"There's  not  much  risk  for  me,"  she  declared.  "I 
can  reach  home  in  five  minutes.  Isn't  it  odd,  though, 
that  we  both  should  have  thought  of  doing  it  at  ex- 
actly the  same  time.  But  come,  Gordon,  we  must 
hurry !" 

Now  that  the  safe  was  open,  to  remove  its  contents 
took  only  a  moment,  and  they  tossed  all  the  papers 
they  found  into  a  corner.  Then,  when  Wade  had 
swung  the  safe  around  on  its  casters,  they  had  a  snug 
shelter  behind  it,  where  by  shaded  candle-light  they 
ran  rapidly  through  their  loot.  Most  of  the  docu- 
ments related  to  land  purchases  and  development,  but 
at  the  bottom  of  the  pile  Wade  came  upon  a  bundle 
of  papers  and  blue-prints,  held  together  by  a  rubber 
band,  which  he  stripped  off. 

"Oh,  if  we  should  find  nothing,  after  all,"  Doro- 
thy whispered,  bending  with  him  over  the  blue-prints. 
"What  are  they,  Gordon?" 

"Maps  of  my  own  range,  Dorothy !"  His  tone  was 
tense  with  excitement,  as  he  leaned  nearer  to  the  light. 
"Well,  what  do  you  know  about  that?  By  Heaven" — 
He  fairly  glared  at  the  sheet  before  his  eyes. — "It's 
all  there!" 

"What's  all  there?    What  is  it?" 


148  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Gold!"  He  looked  at  her  in  the  flickering  light, 
like  a  man  gone  mad. 

"Gold?    On  your  range?     Oh,  Gordon!" 

"Yes;  on  my  range.  It's  inconceivable,  almost;  but 
it  seems  to  be  true.  See !  Look  here !"  Their  heads 
were  almost  touching,  so  that  her  soft  hair  caressed 
his  face.  "This  is  a  map  of  the  upper  valley,  and  the 
description  says  these  red  crosses  indicate  the  loca- 
tion of  gold.  One  is  near  the  head  of  Piah  Creek, 
not  half  a  mile  from  my  buildings." 

"Oh,  Gordon,  I  am  so  glad!"  Dorothy  exclaimed. 
"How  wonderful  it  all  is.  You'll  be  rich,  won't  you  ?" 
She  was  not  too  excited  to  remember  that  his  wealth 
would  probably  be  shared  by  another  woman,  but  she 
was  too  generous  to  be  any  the  less  glad  on  that 
account. 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,"  he  replied.  "It  may  not 
prove  to  amount  to  much,  you  know.  At  any  rate, 
Moran  won't  get  any  of  it.  That's  worth  a  whole 
lot." 

She  nodded  vehemently. 

"I  thought  it  must  be  something  like  that,  Gor- 
don. They  would  never  have  done  the  things  they 
have  without  some  powerful  reason." 

"Yes,  you  were  right,  Dorothy.  You're  usually 
right."  He  caught  her  hand  and  squeezed  it  again, 
and  in  this  moment  of  their  triumph  together  she 
could  not  help  returning  the  pressure.  "You're  a 
jewel,  a  brick,  a  trump — all  those  things  and  then 
some.  The  sweet  . 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  149 

"Now,  we  haven't  time  for  that  sort  of  thing,  Mr. 
Man.  We  .  .  ." 

"Must  get  away  while  we  can,  yes,"  he  finished  for 
her.  "But  just  the  same  I  ..." 

Her  cold  fingers  on  his  lips  stopped  him. 

"Listen!" 

She  put  out  the  candle  and  they  crouched  down 
beside  the  safe.  Some  one  was  coming  up  the  stairs, 
not  stealthily  this  time  but  boldly,  as  one  who  had 
a  right  there,  whistling  softly.  Wade  could  feel  the 
girl's  shoulder  tremble  against  his  side,  as  he  slipped 
his  revolver  out  of  its  holster. 

"Don't,  Gordon !  You — you  mustn't  shoot,  no  mat- 
ter what  happens."  Her  teeth  were  chattering,  for 
she  was  far  more  frightened  now  than  she  had  been 
for  herself  alone.  "That's  Moran.  He  mustn't  see 
you  here.  Remember  that  warrant.  Hide  behind  the 
safe.  Please!" 

"Never!"  he  muttered  grimly.  "He'd  find  us  any- 
how." 

"Yes,  yes.  Please!"  She  was  almost  hysterical  in 
her  excitement.  "I  can  bluff  him  till  you  can  get 
away.  He  won't  hurt  me.  If  he  does  you  can  show 
yourself.  Do  it  for  me,  for  your  friends.  Please! 
Remember,  he  mustn't  know  that  you've  learned  his 
secret." 

It  was  Moran,  for  they  heard  him  now  in  con- 
versation with  some  passer-by  in  the  hallway.  Doro- 
thy was  grateful  for  the  respite,  for  it  gave  them 
time  to  throw  the  loose  papers  back  into  the  safe 


150  HIDDEN  GOLD 

and  close  it.  Wade  then  pushed  the  safe  to  its  orig- 
inal position,  the  casters  making  little  noise  as  they 
rolled.  Then  he  crouched  behind  it. 

"I  don't  like  this  stunt!"  he  protested;  but  yielded 
to  her  beseeching  "Please."  She  was  right,  too,  he 
knew.  It  would  be  far  better  if  Moran  could  bz  kept 
in  ignorance  of  his  visit  there. 

The  office  now  bore  little  sign  of  their  invasion 
of  it,  and,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  Dorothy  schooled 
herself  to  calmness  as  she  awaited  Moran,  who  was 
walking  down  the  hall  toward  the  entrance  to  the  room. 
A  plan  had  flashed  into  her  mind  by  means  of  which 
she  might  save  both  Wade  and  herself,  if  he  and  her 
heart  would  only  be  quiet.  The  unruly  heart  was  beat- 
ing so  violently  that  it  shook  her  thin  dress,  and  that 
her  voice  must  tremble,  she  knew. 

Moran  was  almost  at  the  threshold,  when  Dorothy 
opened  the  door  for  him. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Moran.     Did  I  startle  you?" 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  he  said,  striking  a  match,  after 
an  instant's  pause.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

Passing  her,  he  lighted  the  large  oil  lamp,  and  swept 
the  room  with  a  quick,  keen  glance.  Finding  noth- 
ing apparently  wrong,  he  turned  again  to  his  visitor 
with  a  puzzled  expression  in  his  face. 

"Well?" 

"T  wanted  to  see  you  and  I  thought  you'd  be  here. 
The  door  was  unlocked  so  I  just  walked  in.  I've  been 
here  only  a  minute  or  two."  Fortified  by  another 
deep  breath,  drawn  while  his  back  was  turned,  Doro- 
thy found  her  voice  steadier  than  she  expected. 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  151 

The  agent  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"That's  strange,"  he  commented.  "I  don't  know 
what  the  door  was  doing  unlocked.  I  always  lock  it 
when  I  leave." 

"You  must  have  forgotten  to  do  so  to-night." 

"I  surely  must  have,  if  you  found  it  open." 

Half  convinced  that  she  was  telling  the  truth,  Moran 
could  see  but  one  reason  for  her  evident  fright:  she 
was  afraid  of  him.  The  suggestion  of  that  strength- 
ened the  impulse  which  her  beauty  stirred  in  him.  If 
she  thought  so,  why  not? 

"Say,  you're  a  good-looking  kid,  all  right,"  he 
leered.  "What  did  you  want  to  see  me  for?" 

A  slight  sound  from  behind  the  safe,  or  perhaps 
she  imagined  it,  caused  Dorothy's  heart  to  flutter 
wildly.  She  had  not  anticipated  this  attitude  in  Moran, 
and  she  instantly  realized  that  it  brought  a  fresh  dan- 
ger into  the  situation.  She  knew  that  Wade  would 
not  remain  in  concealment  if  the  agent  insulted  her. 
She  must  avoid  the  chance  of  that,  if  possible;  must 
get  him  out  of  the  office  so  that  Gordon  might 
escape. 

"This  is  no  place  to  talk  that  way,"  she  said  bravely. 
"It  isn't  a  good  place  for  me  to  be  anyway.  If  people 
knew  I  was  here,  there  would  be  a  terrible  scandal. 
I've  something  important  to  tell  you.  Won't  you  come 
for  a  walk?" 

"In  this  rain?  Not  much,"  he  chuckled.  "Come 
here!"  She  shook  her  head  and  tried  to  smile.  "Well, 
if  you  won't,  I'll  have  to  go  to  you."  She  shrank  back 
from  him,  as  he  approached  her,  with  an  evil  smile. 


152  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Say,  little  one,"  he  went  on,  "this  is  a  damned  funny 
game  of  yours,  coming  here  at  night.  What's  the  idea, 
eh?" 

"There  isn't  any,  really."  She  snatched  her  hands 
away  from  him.  "I've  already  tried  to  explain  that 
I  have  important  news  for  you;  but  I  won't  tell  you 
what  it  is  here." 

"Why  not?    We're  dry  and  cozy  here.    Go  ahead." 

"No." 

"Oh,  come  on !"  He  had  driven  her  to  the  wall,  and 
now  he  slipped  an  arm  about  her  waist  and  pulled  her 
toward  him.  "Say,  kiss  me  once,  won't  you?" 

"Hands  up,  you  low-lived  hound!" 

With  an  oath,  Moran  whirled  around  to  find  him- 
self staring  into  the  muzzle  of  Wade's  revolver.  The 
ranchman  moved  his  weapon  significantly. 

"Up!" 

As  the  agent's  hands  went  above  his  head,  Doro- 
thy leaned  against  the  wall  for  support.  She  had  not 
made  a  sound,  but  she  was  the  color  of  chalk,  and 
her  heart  seemed  to  be  trying  to  jump  out  of  her 
mouth.  She  was  no  whiter  than  Wade,  whose  fury 
had  driven  every  vestige  of  color  from  his  face  and 
fired  his  eyes  with  a  murderous  light. 

"Shall  I  kill  him?"  he  asked  Dorothy,  and  at  the 
frightful  tone  of  his  voice  she  found  the  power  to 
shake  her  head,  although  her  mouth  was  too  dry  for 
speech. 

"Take  his  gun,"  said  Wade  sharply  and  the  girl 
stepped  forward. 

She  reeled  toward  Moran,  who,  to  do  him  justice, 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  153 

showed  little  fear,  and  pulled  his  revolver  from  his 
hip  pocket.  She  held  it  out  to  Wade,  who  broke  it 
with  his  free  hand  by  pressing  the  butt  against  the 
top  of  the  safe,  and  spilled  the  cartridges  on  the 
floor. 

"Now  you  can  leave  us,  Dorothy,"  he  said  quietly. 
"No.    I'll  stay,  Gordon,"  she  answered. 
"Moran,"  Wade  continued  evenly,  without  paying 
any  more  attention  to  her,  "the  only  reason  why  I 
shall  not  kill  you  is  because  Miss  Purnell  does  not 
want  your  worthless  life  upon  her  conscience.    A  man 
like  you  ought  to  die.    You're  not  fit  to  live." 
"Can  I  put  my  hands  down?" 
"No;  keep  'em  where  they  are!"     Wade  gestured 
again  with  the  gun.     "I  wish  I  had  a  string  on  each 
of  your  thumbs  so  I  could  hoist  them  higher.     I've 
just  been  through  this  safe  of  yours."     The  agent 
started.     "I've  got  those  maps  of  my  range  in  my 
pocket." 

"Much  good  they'll  do  you." 

"They'll  do  me  more  good  alive  than  they  will  you 
dead,  and  you're  going  to  die.  So  help  me  God,  you 
are!  We'll  come  together  again  some  day." 

"I  hope  so,"  Moran  declared  venomously,  and  even 
Dorothy  was  struck  by  the  courage  he  showed. 

"And  then  there  won't  be  anybody  to  be  held  re- 
sponsible but  me."  Wade  grinned  in  a  slow,  hor- 
rible fashion.  "It'll  rest  light  on  me,  I  promise  you. 
And  another  thing.  I'm  going  to  leave  you  trussed  up 
here  in  this  office,  like  I  left  your  friend  the  Sheriff 
a  few  days  ago,  and  along  about  morning  somebody'U 


154  HIDDEN  GOLD 

find  you  and  turn  you  loose.  When  you  get  loose, 
you  want  to  forget  that  you  saw  Miss  Purnell  here 
to-night.  I've  meant  to  have  her  and  her  mother  leave 
town  for  a  bit  until  this  mess  blows  over,  but  things 
aren't  fixed  right  for  that  just  now.  Instead,  I'm  go- 
ing to  leave  her  in  the  personal  care — the  personal 
care,  you  understand  me,  of  every  decent  man  in 
Crawling  Water.  If  anything  happens  to  her,  you'll 
toast  over  a  slow  fire  before  you  die.  Do  you  get 
that?" 

"She's  a  good  kid,"  said  Moran,  with  a  grin.  Nor 
did  he  flinch  when  the  weapon  in  Wade's  hand  seemed 
actually  to  stiffen  under  the  tension  of  his  grasp. 

"I  guess  it's  a  good  thing  you  stayed,  Dorothy,"  the 
latter  remarked  grimly.  "This  fellow  must  be  tied  up. 
I  wonder  what  we  can  find  to  do  it  with?" 

"My  cloak?"  Dorothy  suggested.    "It's  an  old  one." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"It's  hard  to  tear  that  rain-proof  stuff,  and  besides 
you'd  get  wet  going  home.  There's  no  sense  in  that. 
Isn't  there  something  else?" 

She  blushed  a  little  and  turned  away  for  a  mo- 
ment, during  which  she  slipped  off  her  underskirt. 
Then,  as  Moran  watched  her  cynically,  she  tore  it  into 
strins.  When  she  had  thus  made  several  stout  bands, 
Wade  spoke  again. 

"You  take  the  first  throw  or  two  about  him,"  he 
directed,  "and  when  you  have  him  partly  tied  you  can 
take  mv  gun  and  I'll  finish  the  job.  Start  with  his 
feet,  that's  rieht.  Now  draw  it  as  tight  as  you  can. 
Put  your  arms  down  back  of  you!  Tie  them  now, 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  155 

Dorotny.  That's  fine !  Here,  you  take  the  gun.  You 
know  how  to  use  it,  if  he  struggles." 

Wade  tightened  up  the  linen  bands,  and  kicked  for- 
ward a  straight-backed  chair,  into  which  he  forced 
Moran  and  lashed  him  fast  there,  to  all  of  which  the 
agent  made  no  great  protest,  knowing  that  to  do  so 
would  be  useless.  He  grunted  and  swore  a  bit  under 
his  breath,  but  that  was  all.  When  he  was  well 
trussed  up,  the  ranchman  made  a  gag  out  of  what  was 
left  of  the  linen  and  his  own  handkerchief  and 
strapped  it  into  his  prisoner's  mouth  with  his  belt. 

When  the  job  was  done,  and  it  was  a  good  one, 
he  grinned  again  in  that  slow,  terrible  way.  A  grin 
that  bore  no  semblance  to  human  mirth,  but  was  a 
grimace  of  combined  anger  and  hatred.  Once  before, 
during  the  fight  at  the  ranch,  Bill  Santry  had  seen  this 
expression  on  his  employer's  face,  but  not  to  the 
degree  that  Dorothy  now  saw  it.  It  frightened  her. 

"Oh,  Gordon,  don't,  please!"  She  closed  her  eyes 
to  shut  out  the  sight.  "Come,  we  must  hurry  away." 

"Good  night,"  Wade  said  ironically,  with  a  last  look 
at  Moran. 

He  let  Dorothy  draw  him  away  then,  and  by  the 
time  they  reached  the  street  he  was  his  old  boyish  self 
again.  Aping  Moran,  he  slipped  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  but  she  did  not  shrink  from  his  embrace,  unex- 
pected though  it  was. 

"Say,  kid,"  he  laughed  mockingly.  "Kiss  me  once, 
won't  you  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

INTO   THE   DEPTHS 

"GOOD  Lord,  Race !    What's  happened  ?" 

Senator  Rexhill,  on  the  next  morning,  surprised 
that  Moran  did  not  show  up  at  the  hotel,  had  gone 
in  search  of  him,  and  was  dumbfounded  when  he  en- 
tered the  office. 

Moran,  in  his  desperate  efforts  to  free  himself,  had 
upset  the  chair  into  which  he  was  tied,  and  being  un- 
able to  right  it  again,  had  passed  most  of  the  night 
in  a  position  of  extreme  discomfort.  Toward  morn- 
ing, his  confinement  had  become  positive  agony,  and 
he  had  inwardly  raved  at  Wade,  the  gag  in  his  mouth 
making  audible  expression  impossible,  until  he  was 
black  in  the  face. 

"My  God,  Race !"  the  Senator  exclaimed,  when,  hav- 
ing cut  the  lashings  and  withdrawn  the  gag,  he  saw 
his  agent  in  a  state  bordering  on  collapse,  "what  has 
happened  to  you?"  He  helped  the  man  to  his  feet 
and  held  him  up. 

"My  throat — dry — whiskey!"  Moran  gasped,  and 
groaned  as  he  clutched  at  the  desk,  from  which  he 
slid  into  a  chair,  where  he  sat  rubbing  his  legs,  which 
ached  with  a  thousand  pains. 

Rexhill  found  a  bottle  of  whiskey  and  a  glass  on 
a  shelf  in  the  closet.  He  poured  out  a  generous  drink 

156 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  157 

of  the  liquor  and  handed  it  to  Moran,  but  the  agent 
could  not  hold  it  in  his  swollen  fingers.  The  Sen- 
ator picked  up  the  glass,  which  had  not  broken  in 
its  fall  and,  refilling  it,  held  it  to  Moran's  lips.  It 
was  a  stiff  drink,  and  by  the  time  it  was  repeated,  the 
agent  was  revived  somewhat. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  urged  Rexhill. 

Prepared  though  he  was  for  an  outburst  of  fury, 
he  was  amazed  at  the  torrent  of  blasphemous  oaths 
which  Moran  uttered.  He  caught  Wade's  name,  but 
the  rest  was  mere  incoherence,  so  wildly  mouthed  and 
so  foul  that  he  began  to  wonder  if  torture  had  un- 
balanced the  man's  mind.  The  expression  of  Moran's 
eyes,  which  had  become  mere  slits  in  his  inflamed 
and  puffy  face,  showed  that  for  the  time  he  was  quite 
beyond  himself.  What  with  his  blued  skin  and  dis- 
tended veins,  his  puffed  lips  and  slurred  speech,  he 
seemed  on  the  brink  of  an  apoplectic  seizure.  Rexhill 
watched  him  anxiously. 

"Come,  come,  man.  Brace  up,"  he  burst  out,  at 
length.  "You'll  kill  yourself,  if  you  go  on  that  way. 
Be  a  man." 

The  words  seemed  to  have  their  effect,  for  the  agent 
made  a  supreme  effort  at  the  self-control  which  was 
seldom  lacking  in  him.  He  appeared  to  seize  the  reins 
of  self-government  and  to  force  himself  into  a  state, 
of  unnatural  quiet,  as  one  tames  a  frantic  horse. 

"The  safe !"  he  muttered  hoarsely,  scrambling-  to  his 
feet. 

His  stiffened  legs  still  refused  to  function,  however, 
and  Rexhill,  hastening  to  the  safe,  threw  open  the  door. 


158  HIDDEN  GOLD 

One  glance  at  the  disordered  interior  told  him  the 
whole  story.  Moran  watched  feverishly  as  he  dragged 
the  crumpled  papers  out  on  the  floor  and  pawed 
through  them. 

"Gone?" 

"Gone!" 

They  looked  at  each  other,  a  thin  tide  of  crimson 
brightening  the  congestion  of  Moran's  visage,  while 
Rexhill's  face  went  ghastly  white.  With  shaking  fin- 
gers, the  agent  poured  himself  a  third  drink  and  tossed 
it  down  his  throat. 

"It  was  Wade  who  tied  you  up?" 

Moran  nodded. 

"Him  and  that — girl — the  Purnell  girl."  Stirred 
more  by  the  other's  expression  of  contempt  than  by 
the  full  half  pint  of  whiskey  he  had  imbibed,  he 
crashed  his  fist  down  on  the  desk.  "Mind  what  you 
say  now,  because,  by  God,  I'm  in  no  mood  to  take 
anything  from  you.  He  got  the  drop  on  me,  you 
understand.  Let  it  go  at  that." 

"It's  gone  right  enough — all  gone."  Rexhill 
groaned.  "Why,  he  only  needs  to  publish  those  plots 
to  make  this  a  personal  fight  between  us  and  every 
property  owner  in  the  valley.  They'll  tar  and  feather 
us,  if  they  don't  kill  us  outright.  It'll  be  gold  with 
them — gold.  Nothing  else  will  count  from  now  on." 

"I'll  get  back  at  him  yet !"  growled  Moran. 

"You'll  .  .  ."  The  Senator  threateningly  raised  his 
gorilla-like  arms,  but  let  them  drop  helplessly  again. 
"How  did  they  get  into  the  safe?  Did  you  leave  it 
open?" 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  159 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool?"  Moran  fixed  his  bale- 
ful eyes  upon  his  employer,  as  he  leaned  heavily,  but 
significantly,  across  the  flat  desk.  "Say,  let's  look 
ahead  to  to-morrow,  not  back  to  last  night.  Do  you 
hear?  I'll  do  the  remembering  of  last  night;  you  for- 
get it!" 

Rexhill  tried  to  subdue  him  with  his  own  masterful 
gaze,  but  somehow  the  power  was  lacking.  Moran 
was  in  a  dangerous  frame  of  mind,  and  past  the  domi- 
nance of  his  employer.  He  had  but  one  thought,  that 
of  vengeance  upon  the  man  who  had  misused  him,  to 
which  everything  else  had  for  the  time  being  to  play 
second. 

"You  talk  like  I  let  them  truss  me  up  for  fun,"  he 
went  on.  "I  did  it  because  I  had  to,  because  I  was 
looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a  six-shooter  in  the  hands 
of  a  desperate  man;  that  was  why.  Do  you  get  me? 
And  I  don't  need  to  be  reminded  of  it.  No,  by 
Heaven!  My  throat's  as  dry  yet  as  a  fish-bone,  and 
every  muscle  in  me  aches  like  hell!  I'll  remember  it 
all  right,  and  he'll  pay.  Don't  you  have  any  worries 
about  that." 

Rexhill  was  sufficiently  a  captain  of  men  to  have 
had  experience  of  such  moods  in  the  past,  and  he 
knew  the  futility  of  arguing.  He  carefully  chose  a 
cigar  from  his  case,  seated  himself,  and  began  to  smoke. 

Moran,  apparently  soothed  by  this  concession  to  his 
temper,  and  a  bit  ashamed  of  himself,  watched  him 
for  some  moments  in  silence.  When  at  last  he  spoke, 
his  tone  was  more  conciliatory. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Washington?"  he  asked. 


160  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"I  got  a  telegram  this  morning,  saying  that  the  mat- 
ter is  under  advisement 

"Under  advisement!"  Moran  snorted,  in  disgust. 
"That  means  that  they'll  get  the  cavalry  here  in  time 
to  fire  a  volley  over  our  graves — ashes  to  ashes  and 
dust  to  dust.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Rexhill  blew  a  huge  mouthful  of  fragrant  smoke 
into  the  air. 

"Frankly,  Race,  I  don't  think  you're  in  a  proper 
mood  to  talk." 

"You're  right."  Something  in  Moran's  voice  sug- 
gested the  explosion  of  a  fire-arm,  and  the  Senator 
looked  at  him  curiously.  "I'm  through  talking.  We've 
both  of  us  talked  too  damn  much,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"I'll  be  obliged  to  you,"  the  Senator  remarked,  "if 
you'll  remember  that  you  draw  a  salary  from  me  and 
that  you  owe  me  a  certain  amount  of  respect." 

Moran  laughed  raucously. 

"Respect !  I  don't  owe  you  a  damn  thing,  Senator ; 
and  what  you  owe  me  you  won't  be  able  to  pay  if  you 
sit  here  much  longer  waiting  for  something  to  turn 
up.  You'll  be  ruined,  that's  what  you'll  be — ruined!" 
He  brought  his  big  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a 
thump. 

"By  your  own  carelessness.  Now,  look  here,  Race, 
I've  made  allowances  for  you,  because  .  .  ." 

"You  don't  need  to  soft  soap  me,  Senator;  save  that 
for  your  office  seekers."  The  agent  was  fast  work- 
ing himself  into  another  passion.  "I've  not  ruined 
you,  and  you  know  it.  A  safe's  a  safe,  isn't  it?  In- 
stead of  ruining  yon,  I'm  trying  to  save  you.  If  you 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  161 

go  broke,  you'll  do  it  yourself  with  your  pap  and  sen- 
timent. But  if  I  am  to  pull  your  chestnuts  out  of  the 
fire  for  you,  you've  got  to  give  me  a  free  hand.  I've 
got  to  fight  fire  with  fire." 

Rexhill  wiped  his  glasses  nervously,  for  despite  his 
assumption  of  calm,  his  whole  future  swung  upon  the 
outcome  of  his  Crawling  Water  venture.  If  he  ap- 
peared calm,  it  was  not  because  he  felt  so,  but  be- 
cause the  schooling  of  a  lifetime  had  taught  him  that 
the  man  who  keeps  cool  usually  wins. 

"There's  nothing  to  do  but  go  on  as  we  are  headed 
now,"  he  declared.  "Wade's  discovery  of  our  pur- 
pose is  most  unfortunate" — his  voice  shook  a  trifle — 
"but  it  can't  be  helped.  In  the  legal  sense,  he  has  added 
to  the  list  of  his  crimes,  and  we  have  more  against 
him  than  we  ever  had.  He  now  has  three  charges  to 
face — murder,  assault,  and  robbery.  It  rests  with  us 
whether  he  shall  be  punished  by  the  courts  for  any  of 
the  three." 

The  Senator  spoke  emphatically  in  the  effort  to 
convince  himself  that  his  statements  were  practically 
true,  but  he  avoided  Moran's  eyes  as  he  did  so.  His 
show  of  optimism  had  little  substance  behind  it,  be- 
cause now  that  his  motives  were  likely  to  be  bared 
to  the  public,  he  was  too  good  a  lawyer  not  to  re- 
alize how  little  standing  he  would  have  before  a  jury, 
in  that  section  at  least;  of  course,  Wade  must  realize 
this  equally  well  and  feel  fortified  in  his  own  posi- 
tion. Rexhill's  chief  hope  had  been  that  the  support 
of  the  cavalry  from  Fort  Mackenzie  would  enable  him 
to  control  the  situation;  but  here,  too,  he  was  threat- 


1 62  HIDDEN  GOLD 

ened  by  the  unexpected  hesitation  of  the  authorities 
at  Washington. 

Moran,  however,  was  frankly  contemptuous  of  the 
prospect  of  help  from  that  source.  He  had  never  be- 
lieved greatly  in  it,  although  at  the  time  it  was  first 
mentioned  his  enthusiasm  for  any  plan  of  action  had 
inspired  him  with  some  measure  of  the  Senator's  con- 
fidence. Now  that  his  lust  of  revenge  made  him  in- 
tolerant of  all  opposition,  he  was  thoroughly  exas- 
perated by  the  telegram  received  from  Washington, 
and  had  no  faith  in  aid  from  such  a  quarter. 

"What  if  your  cavalry  doesn't  come?"  he  demanded. 

"Then  we  must  rely  upon  the  Sheriff  here  to  main- 
tain the  law  that  he  is  sworn  to  support." 

"Bah!  He's  weakening  now.  He's  not  forgetting 
that  he's  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days  in  this  town, 
after  we've  gone  back  East,  or  perhaps  to  hell.  Who's 
to  look  after  him,  then,  if  he's  got  himself  in  bad 
with  the  folks  here?  Senator" — Moran  clumped  pain- 
fully over  to  the  safe  and  leaned  upon  it  as  he  faced 
his  employer — "it  isn't  cavalry  that'll  save  you,  or  that 
old  turkey  buzzard  of  a  sheriff  either.  I'm  the  man 
to  do  it,  if  anybody  is,  and  the  only  way  out  is  to  lay 
for  this  man  Wade  and  kidnap  him."  Rexhill  started 
violently.  "Kidnap  him,  and  take  him  into  the  moun- 
tains, and  keep  him  there  with  a  gun  at  his  head,  until 
he  signs  a  quit-claim.  I've  located  the  very  spot  to 
hide  him  in — Coyote  Springs.  It's  practically  inac- 
cessible, a  natural  hiding-place." 

Rexhill  turned  a  shade  or  two  paler  as  he  nervously 
brushed  some  cigar  ashes  from  his  vest  and  sleeve. 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  163 

He  had  already  gone  farther  along  the  road  of  crime 
than  he  felt  to  be  safe,  but  the  way  back  seemed  even 
more  dangerous  than  the  road  ahead.  The  question 
was  no  longer  one  of  ethics,  but  purely  of  expediency. 

"We  haven't  time  to  wait  on  cavalry  and  courts," 
Moran  went  on.  "I'm  willing  to  take  the  risk,  if  you 
are.  If  we  don't  take  it,  you  know  what  the  result 
will  be.  We  may  make  our  get-away  to  the  East,  or 
we  may  stop  here  for  good — under  ground.  You  have 
little  choice  either  way.  If  you  get  out  of  this  coun- 
try, you'll  be  down  and  out.  Your  name'll  be  a  by- 
word and  you'll  be  flat  broke,  a  joke  and  an  object 
of  contempt  the  nation  over.  A'nd  it's  not  only  your- 
self you've  got  to  think  of;  you've  got  to  consider 
your  wife  and  daughter,  and  how  they'll  stand  poverty 
and  disgrace.  Against  all  that  you've  got  a  chance, 
a  fighting  chance.  Are  you  game  enough  to  take  it?'r 

All  that  Moran  said  was  true  enough,  for  Rexhill 
knew  that  if  he  failed  to  secure  control  of  Crawling 
Water  Valley,  his  back  would  be  broken,  both  politi- 
cally and  financially.  He  would  not  only  be  stripped 
of  his  wealth,  but  of  his  credit  and  the  power  which 
stood  him  in  lieu  of  private  honor.  He  would  be  dis- 
graced beyond  redemption  in  the  eyes  of  his  asso- 
ciates, and  in  the  bosom  of  his  family  he  would  find 
no  solace  for  public  sneers.  Failure  meant  the  loss 
forever  of  his  daughter's  respect,  which  might  yet  be 
saved  to  him  through  the  glamour  of  success  and  the 
reflection  of  that  tolerance  which  the  world  is  always 
ready  to  extend  toward  the  successful. 

"You  are  right,"  he  admitted,   "in  saying  that  I 


164  HIDDEN  GOLD 

have  my  wife  and  daughter  to  consider,  and  that  re- 
minds me.  I  haven't  told  you  that  Helen  overheard 
our  conversation  about  Wade,  in  my  room,  the  other 
day."  He  rapidly  explained  her  indignation  and  threat 
of  exposure.  "I  don't  mean  to  say  that  your  sugges- 
tion hasn't  something  to  recommend  it,"  he  summed 
up,  "but  if  Wade  were  to  disappear,  and  she  felt  that 
he  had  been  injured,  I  probably  could  not  restrain 
her." 

The  agent  leaned  across  the  desk,  leeringly. 

"Tell  her  the  truth,  that  I  found  Wade  here  in  this 
room  with  Dorothy  Purnell,  at  night;  that  they  came 
here  for  an  assignation,  because  it  was  the  one  place 
in  Crawling  Water  .  .  ." 

Rexhill  got  to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
gust. 

"Well,  say,  then,  that  they  came  here  to  rifle  the 
place,  but  that  when  I  caught  them  they  were  spoon- 
ing. Say  anything  you  like,  but  make  her  believe  that 
it  was  a  lovers'  meeting.  See  if  she'll  care  then  to 
save  him." 

The  Senator  dropped  heavily  back  into  his  chair 
without  voicing  the  protest  that  had  been  upon  his 
tongue's  end.  He  was  quick  to  see  that,  contemptible 
though  the  suggestion  was,  it  yet  offered  him  a  means 
whereby  to  save  himself  his  daughter's  respect  and 
affection.  The  whole  danger  in  that  regard  lay  in 
her  devotion  to  Wade,  which  was  responsible  for  her 
interest  in  him.  If  she  could  be  brought  to  feel  that 
Wade  was  unworthy,  that  he  had  indeed  wronged  her, 
her  own  pride  could  be  trusted  to  do  the  rest. 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  165 

"If  I  thought  that  Wade  were  the  man  to  make 
her  happy,"  Rexhill  puffed  heavily,  in  restraint  of  his 
excitement 

"Happy?    Him?"     Moran's  eyes  gleamed. 

"Or  if  there  was  a  shred  of  truth — but  to  make  up 
such  a  story  out  of  whole  cloth  .  .  ." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Senator?  Why,  I 
thought  you  were  a  master  of  men,  a  general  on  the 
field  of  battle !"  The  agent  leaned  forward  again  un- 
til his  hot,  whiskey-laden  breath  fanned  the  other  man's 
face. 

"I'm  a  father,  Race,  before  I'm  anything  else  in 
God's  world." 

"But  it's  true,  Senator.  True  as  I'm  speaking.  Ask 
any  one  in  Crawling  Water.  Everybody  knows  that 
Wade  and  this  Purnell  girl  are  mad  in  love  with  each 
other." 

"Is  that  true,  Race?" 

Rexhill  looked  searchingly  into  the  inflamed  slits 
which  marked  the  location  of  the  agent's  eyes. 

"As  God  is  my  witness.  It's  the  truth  now,  what- 
ever he  may  have  thought  of  Helen  before.  He's  been 
making  a  fool  of  her,  Senator.  I've  tried  to  make  her 
see  it,  but  she  won't.  You'll  not  only  be  protecting 
yourself,  but  you'll  do  her  a  service."  He  paused  as 
Rexhill  consulted  his  watch. 

"Helen  will  be  over  here  in  a  few  minutes.  I  prom- 
ised to  take  a  walk  with  her  this  morning." 

"Are  you  game?" 

"I'll  do  it,  Race."  Rexhill  spoke  solemnly.  "We 
might  as  well  fry  for  one  thing  as  another."  Grimac- 


166  HIDDEN  GOLD 

ing,  he  shook  the  hand  which  the  other  offered  him. 
"When  will  you  start?" 

"Now,"  Moran  answered  promptly.  "I'll  take  three 
or  four  men  with  me,  and  we'll  hang  around  Wade's 
ranch  until  we  get  him.  He'll  probably  be  nosing 
around  the  range  trying  to  locate  the  gold,  and  we 
shouldn't  have  much  trouble.  When  we've  got  him 
safe  .  .  ."  His  teeth  ground  audibly  upon  each  other 
as  he  paused  abruptly,  and  the  sound  seemed  to  cause 
the  Senator  uneasiness. 

"By  the  way,  since  I've  turned  near-assassin,  you 
might  as  well  tell  me  who  shot  Jensen."  Rexhill  spoke 
with  a  curious  effort.  "If  Wade  gets  you,  instead 
of  you  getting  Wade,  it  may  be  necessary  for  me  to 
know  all  the  facts." 

Moran  answered  from  the  window,  whither  he  had 
stepped  to  get  his  hat,  which  lay  on  the  broad  sill 

"It  was  Tug  Bailey,  Senator.  Here  comes  Helen 
now.  You  needn't  tell  her  that  I  was  tied  up  all 
night."  He  laid  Wade's  quirt  on  the  desk.  "He  left 
that  behind  him." 

Rexhill  grunted. 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  her,"  he  declared  sulkily,  "and 
about  the  Jensen  affair,  if  I've  got  to  be  a  rascal, 
you'll  be  the  goat.  Give  B?iley  some  money  and  get 
him  out  of  town  before  he  tanks  up  and  tells  all  he 
knows." 

Helen  came  in,  looking  very  sweet  and  fresh  in 
a  linen  suit,  and  was  at  first  inclined  to  be  sympa- 
thetic when  she  heard  of  Moran's  plight,  without  know- 
ing the  source  of  it.  Before  she  did  know,  the  odor 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  167 

of  liquor  on  his  breath  repelled  her.  He  finally  de- 
parted, not  at  the  bidding  of  her  cool  nod,  but  urged 
by  his  lust  of  revenge,  which,  even  more  than  the 
whiskey,  had  fired  his  blood. 

"Intoxicated,  isn't  he?     How  utterly  disgusting!" 

Her  father  looked  at  her  admiringly,  keenly  regret- 
ting that  he  must  dispel  her  love  dream.  But  he  took 
some  comfort  from  the  fact  that  Wade  was  appar- 
ently in  love  with  another  woman.  The  thought  of 
this  had  been  enough  to  make  him  seize  upon  the 
chance  of  keeping  all  her  affection  for  himself. 

"He's  had  a  drink  or  two,"  he  admitted,  "but  he 
needed  them.  He  had  a  hard  night.  Poor  fellow,  he 
was  nearly  dead  when  I  arrived.  Wade  handled  him 
very  roughly." 

Helen  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"Did  Gordon  do  it?  What  was  he  doing  here?" 
The  Senator  hesitated,  and  while  she  waited  for  his 
answer  she  was  struck  by  a  sense  of  humor  in  what 
had  happened.  She  laughed  softly.  "Good  for  him !" 

"We  think  that  he  came  here  to — to  see  what  he 
could  find,  partly,"  Rexhill  explained.  "That  prob- 
ably was  not  his  only  reason.  He  wasn't  alone." 

"Oh !"  Her  tone  expressed  disappointment  that  his 
triumph  had  not  been  a  single-handed  one.  "Did  they 
tie  him  with  these?"  she  asked,  picking  up  one  of 
the  crumpled  strips  of  linen,  which  lay  on  the  floor. 
Suddenly  her  face  showed  surprise.  "Why — this  is 
part  of  a  woman's  skirt?" 

Her  father  glanced  at  the  strip  of  linen  over  his 
glasses. 


168  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Yes,"  he  nodded.     "I  believe  it  is." 

"Somebody  was  here  with  Race?"  Her  voice  was 
a  blend  of  attempted  confidence  and  distressing  doubt. 

"My  dear,  I  have  painful  news  for  you.  .  .  ." 

"With  Gordon?"  The  question  was  almost  a  sob. 
"Who,  father?  Dorothy  Purnell?" 

Helen  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  going  to  her,  the 
Senator  placed  his  hands  on  her  shoulders.  She 
looked  shrunken,  years  older,  with  the  bloom  of  youth 
blighted  as  frost  strikes  a  flower,  but  even  in  the  first 
and  worst  moments  of  her  grief  there  was  dignity 
in  it.  In  a  measure  Race  Moran  had  prepared  her 
for  the  blow;  he,  and  what  she  herself  had  seen  of 
the  partisanship  between  Dorothy  and  Gordon. 

"You  must  be  brave,  my  dear,"  her  father  soothed, 
"because  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  know.  Race 
came  upon  them  here  last  night,  in  each  other's  em- 
brace, I  believe,  and  with  the  girl's  help,  Wade  got 
the  upper  hand." 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  Gordon?"  Her  cold  fingers 
held  to  his  warm  ones  as  in  her  childhood  days,  when 
she  had  run  to  him  for  protection. 

"His  quirt  is  there  on  the  desk." 

"But  why  should  they  have  come  here,  father — here 
of  all  places?  Doesn't  that  seem  very  improbable 
to  you  ?  That  is  what  I  can't  understand.  Why  didn't 
he  go  to  her  house?" 

"For  fear  of  arrest,  I  suppose.  Their  reason  for 
coming  here,  you  have  half  expressed,  Helen,  because 
it  offered  them  the  safest  refuge,  at  that  time  of  night, 
in  Crawling  Water.  The  office  has  not  been  used  at 


INTO  THE  DEPTHS  169 

night  since  we  rented  it,  and  besides  Moran  has  been 
doubly  busy  with  me  at  the  hotel.  But  I  don't  say 
that  was  their  sole  reason  for  coming  here.  The  safe 
had  been  opened,  and  doubtless  their  chief  motive  was 
robbery." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stood  facing  him  with 
flaming  cheeks,  grieved  still  but  aroused  to  passion- 
ate indignation. 

"Father,  do  you  stand  there  and  tell  me  that  Gor- 
don Wade  has  not  onlv  been  untrue  to  me,  but  that 
he  came  here  at  night  to  steal  from  you;  broke  in  here 
like  a  common  thief?"  Her  breast  heaved  violently, 
and  in  her  eyes  shone  a  veritable  fury  of  scorn. 

The  Senator  met  her  outburst  gravely  as  became 
a  man  in  his  position.  He  spoke  with  judicial  grav- 
ity, which  could  leave  no  doubt  of  his  own  convic- 
tions, while  conveying  a  sense  of  dignified  restraint, 
tempered  with  regret. 

"He  not  only  did  so,  my  dear,  but  he  succeeded  in 
escaping  with  documents  of  the  greatest  value  to  us, 
which,  if  prematurely  published,  may  work  us  incal- 
culable harm  and  subject  our  motives  to  the  most 
grievous  misconception." 

She  lifted  her  head  with  so  fine  a  gesture  of  pride 
that  the  Senator  was  thrilled  by  his  own  paternity. 
Before  him,  in  his  child,  he  seemed  to  see  the  best 
of  himself,  purified  and  exalted. 

"Then,  if  that  is  true,  you  may  dc  with  him  what 
you  will.  I  am  through." 

He  knew  her  too  well  to  doubt  that  her  renuncia- 
tion of  Wade  had  been  torn  from  the  very  roots  of 


170  HIDDEN  GOLD 

her  nature,  but  for  all  that,  when  she  had  spoken, 
she  was  not  above  her  moment  of  deep  grief. 

"My  little  girl,  I  know — I  know!"  Putting  his 
arms  around  her,  he  held  her  while  she  wept  on  his 
shoulder.  "But  isn't  it  better  to  find  out  these  things 
now,  in  time,  before  they  have  had  a  chance  to  really 
wreck  your  happiness?" 

"Yes,  of  course."  She  dried  her  eyes  and  managed 
to  smile  a  little.  "I — I'll  write  to  Maxwell  to-day  and 
tell  him  that  I'll  marry  him.  That  will  please  mother." 

It  pleased  the  Senator,  too,  for  it  meant  that  no 
matter  what  happened  to  him,  the  women  of  his  fam- 
ily would  be  provided  for.  He  knew  that  young 
Frayne  was  too  much  in  love  to  be  turned  from  his 
purpose  by  any  misfortune,  that  might  occur  to  Helen's 
father. 


CHAPTER  XIV 
A  DASTARD'S  BLOW 

AT  about  the  time  when  Rexhill  was  freeing  Moran 
from  his  bonds,  Wade  and  Santry,  with  rifles  slung 
across  their  backs  were  tramping  the  banks  of  Piah 
Creek.  In  the  rocky  canyon,  which  they  finally 
reached,  the  placid  little  stream  narrowed  into  a  roar- 
ing torrent,  which  rushed  between  the  steep  banks  and 
the  huge,  water-worn  bowlders,  with  fury  uncon- 
trolled. 

Neither  of  the  cattle  men  greatly  feared  the  coming 
of  a  second  posse,  at  least  immediately,  but  for  the 
sake  of  prudence,  they  went  armed  and  kept  a  care- 
ful watch.  Wade  mounted  guard  while  Santry,  who 
in  his  younger  days  had  prospected  in  California,  squat- 
ted over  a  sandy,  rock-rimmed  pool  and  deftly  "washed 
out"  a  pan  of  gravel.  One  glance  at  the  fine,  yellow 
residue  in  the  bottom  of  the  pan  decided  him.  With 
a  triumphant  yell  that  echoed  and  reechoed  through 
the  gorge,  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Whoop-e-e-e !  I've  struck  it !"  he  shouted  excit- 
edly, as  Wade  ran  up  to  him.  "Look  there!"  The 
old  man  held  out  a  small  handful  of  the  yellow  dust. 

Wade  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Gold!     It's  true,  then!" 

"You  betcher,  and  it's  the  richest  pay-dirt  I  ever 
met  up  with.  No  wonder  Moran  has  been  willin'  to 

171 


172  HIDDEN  GOLD 

do  murder  to  get  a-holt  of  this  land.  You're  a  rich 
man,  boy;  a  millionaire,  I  reckon." 

"You  mean  that  we  are  rich,  Bill."  The  younger 
man  spoke  slowly  and  emphatically.  "Whatever  comes 
out  of  here" — he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  creek — 
"is  one-half  yours.  I  decided  on  that  long  ago.  Never 
mind  asking  me  why."  He  clapped  Santry  on  the 
back.  "It's  because  we're  partners  in  fact,  if  not  in 
name.  Because  you've  stuck  with  me  through  all  the 
lean  years.  That's  reason  enough." 

The  old  plainsman  carefully  emptied  the  dust  back 
into  the  pan  before  he  said  anything. 

"Have  you  gone  clean  crazy?"  he  finally  demanded. 
"Givin'  away  a  fortune  like  it  was  the  makin's  of  a 
cigareet?  If  you  have,  I  ain't.  This  stuff's  yourn. 
I'm  not  sayin*  that  I  won't  take  a  ounce  or  two, 
maybe,  of  this  here  dust,  for  old  times'  sake,  if  you 
offer  it  to  me,  but  that's  all."  His  wrinkled  face 
twisted  into  a  grin.  "You'll  be  needin'  it  all  one  o1 
these  days  to  pay  for  your  honeymoonin',  if  I  read 
the  signs  right.  Ain't  that  so,  son?"  He  laughed 
softly  as  Wade  flushed.  "Shake,  boy!  Put 'er  there! 
I  wish  you  all  the  luck  that's  comin'  to  any  white  man, 
by  the  great  horned  toad,  I  do !" 

During  the  whole  of  the  morning  they  examined 
the  creek  bed  and  they  found  signs  of  the  yellow  metal 
almost  everywhere.  At  one  point,  Wade  broke  a 
knob  of  rock  from  the  face  of  the  cliff,  the  under 
surface  of  which  was  seamed  and  streaked  with  golden 
veins.  Santry  could  scarcely  restrain  himself;  usu- 
ally taciturn,  he  was  for  once  as  light-hearted  and 


A  DASTARD'S  BLOW  173 

joyous  as  a  boy.  But  on  the  way  back  to  the  ranch- 
house  he  became  serious. 

"Say,  ain't  the  bulk  of  that  lode  on  that  forty- 
acre  tract  that  you  took  up  as  a  timber  claim?"  he 
asked. 

"Yes,"  Wade  answered.  "That  is,  I  think  so.  We 
can  run  over  the  lines  this  afternoon  and  make  sure." 

"I  reckon  we'd  better  make  sure,  and  if  it  is,  you'll 
have  to  lay  low  until  you  get  your  deed.  Your  home- 
stead rights  might  be  hard  to  claim  now  that  there's 
mineral  in  the  ground.  Moran'll  most  likely  keep 
his  mouth  shut  for  reasons  of  his  own,  and  he  may 
not  know  about  your  not  havin'  proved  up  yet,  but 
some  other  jasper  might  get  wise." 

"I  don't  think  any  one  around  here  would  contest 
my  right  to  the  land,  Bill,"  Wade  replied  thought- 
fully. "Still,  as  you  say,  we'd  better  be  careful.  The 
gold  will  keep.  We  haven't  heard  the  last  of  Moran 
and  his  crowd  yet,  not  by  a  jugful."  He  chuckled 
grimly.  "I  wonder  if  anybody's  cut  him  loose  yet." 

"I  reckon  they  have,  boy.  He'll  keep  monkeyin' 
around  this  territory  until  he  meets  up  with  some 
feller  like  me,  with  a  bad  temper  and  a  quick  gun 
hand,  who'll  make  him  good  the  same  way  we  useter 
make  good  Injuns.  Hullo,  steady!" 

Although  they  were  now  in  sight  of  the  house  and 
the  men  hanging  about  it  for  the  noon-day  meal,  San- 
try  had  not  relaxed  his  caution  and  his  eyes  had 
picked  out  two  moving  dots  in  the  distance,  which 
presently  developed  into  galloping  horses.  He  smiled 
instantly. 


174  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Can't  be  nobody  lookin'  for  trouble,"  he  observed, 
and  presently  his  eyes  twinkled.  "Take  a  good  look, 
boy.  I  reckon  you  know  one  of  'em,  anyhow." 

The  horses  came  on  rapidly,  until  upon  the  fore- 
most of  them  Wade  could  see  the  fluttering  skirt  of 
a  woman,  while  the  other  he  recognized  as  belonging 
to  Lem  Trowbridge  even  before  he  could  clearly  make 
out  the  rider. 

"Tell  the  cook  we'll  have  company  to  dinner,"  Wade 
called  to  Santry  as  he  untied  a  horse  from  the  hitch- 
ing rack  near  the  barn  and  rode  off  to  meet  the  new- 
comers. 

With  fine  prescience,  Trowbridge,  when  he  saw  him 
ride  toward  them,  drew  his  horse  down  to  a  walk, 
and  so  was  discreetly  in  the  rear  when  Dorothy  and 
Wade  met. 

"Mighty  glad  to  see  you,"  he  greeted  her,  "but 
that  goes  without  saying." 

"Thanks,"  she  responded,  hoping  that  he  would 
attribute  the  heightened  color  of  her  cheeks  to  the 
exertion  of  the  ride.  "We  thought  we'd  ride  out  to 
see  how  you  were  getting  along." 

Despite  her  blush,  that  had  come  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  his  kiss  the  night  before,  she  still  looked 
him  straight  in  the  eyes,  but  with  a  sweet  humility, 
an  attitude  of  surrender,  which  he  understood  and 
which  touched  him.  There  was  nothing  bold  about 
her  look,  but  an  engaging  womanliness,  which  would 
have  appealed  to  any  decent  man,  even  while  it  stirred 
his  pulse.  She  wore  a  wide  felt  hat,  from  beneath 
the  brim  of  which  her  hair  floated,  shaken  out  of 


A  DASTARD'S  BLOW  175 

its  moorings  by  the  jolting  of  her  gallop.  A  flannel 
blouse,  which  was  most  becoming,  and  a  divided  skirt 
completed  a  sensible  costume,  which  seemed  to  Wade 
more  attractive  than  any  he  had  ever  seen  in  the 
East.  She  rode  with  the  straight  stirrups  of  the  cat- 
tle country,  and  sat  her  mount  with  the  grace  of  a 
born  horsewoman. 

"What's  happened  to  Moran?"  he  asked,  waving  his 
hat  to  Trowbridge,  as  the  latter  rode  toward  them. 

"He's  out  and  around  again.  I  saw  him  this  morn- 
ing. He  was  an  awful  sight.  You  must  keep  your 
eyes  open,  Gordon,  really  you  must.  He'll  be  more 
dangerous  than  ever  now." 

"Oh,  I  guess  we've  clipped  his  claws  for  a  while," 
he  said  lightly,  unwilling  that  she  should  be  anxious 
for  his  safety,  sweet  though  he  found  her  sympathy 
to  be.  "Hello,  Lem!" 

"Hello,  yourself!"  They  shook  hands,  the  firm 
handclasp  of  strong  men,  and  then  all  three  rode  on 
together  to  the  house. 

After  dinner,  the  plainness  of  which  meant  nothing 
to  such  appetites  as  their  outdoor  living  had  aroused, 
they  sat  on  the  porch,  the  men  over  their  cigarettes 
and  Dorothy  quite  content  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  sweetness  which  her  heart  had  found. 

"How  are  things  going  on  your  place,  Lem  ?"  asked 
Wade. 

"Badly,  Gordon.  That's  one  reason  I  rode  over 
to  see  you.  Have  you  heard  about  the  fight  on  my 
range?  You  haven't?" 


176  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"I  didn't  have  time  last  night  to  tell  him,"  Doro- 
thy interposed. 

"A  number  of  my  boys  got  into  a  shooting  affray 
with  some  herders,"  Trowbridge  explained.  "Two  of 
the  boys  were  hurt  and  one  of  the  herders,  I  under- 
stand, was  badly  shot." 

"Too  bad,"  Wade  commented.  "Confound  it,  Lem, 
what  are  these  fellows  thinking  of?  They  must  know 
that  our  patience  won't  last  always,  and  when  it  breaks 
we're  ten  to  their  one." 

"Well,"— Trowbridge  deftly  necked  his  cigarette 
stub  over  the  porch  railing, — "I'm  through  now,  Gor- 
don. I've  given  my  men  orders  to  stand  for  no  more 
nonsense.  I've  told  them  to  shoot  at  the  drop  of  the 
hat,  and  I'll  stand  behind  'em,  law  or  no  law.  The 
next  time  there's  trouble,  and  it's  likely  to  come  any 
hour,  I'm  going  to  lead  my  outfit  into  a  fight  that'll 
be  some  fight,  believe  me.  And  I'm  not  going  to 
quit  until  every  sheep  man  in  the  county  is  headed 
East  on  the  run." 

"We'll  be  with  you,"  Wade  said  heartily.  "Tip  us 
the  word  and  we'll  be  right  after  you." 

Trowbridge  nodded. 

"I'll  take  you  up  on  that,  Gordon.  Not  that  we 
need  help,  you  understand,  but  because  it'll  be  best  for 
us  to  present  a  united  front  in  this  business.  United, 
we  stand;  divided,  we  fall;  that's  the  word,  eh?" 

Dorothy  leaned  forward,  with  an  anxious  look. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  hope  neither  one  of  you 
will  get  shot." 

Trowbridge  made  her  a  bow  from  his  chair. 


A  DASTARD'S  BLOW  177 

"We'll  try  not  to,"  he  said  mockingly,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  join  in  the  general  laugh. 

"If  you  feel  that  you  ought  to  do  it,  of  course  you 
will — fight,  I  mean,"  she  said,  helplessly.  "But  I 
think  it's  dreadful,  all  the  same." 

"What  has  Thomas  done  about  me?"  Wade  asked. 
"I  understand  that  he's  holding  quite  a  bunch  of  war- 
rants up  his  sleeve?" 

"I  don't  think  he's  done  anything,  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve he's  anxious  to,"  Trowbridge  answered.  "He's 
shown  some  courage,  that  fellow,  in  the  past,  but 
I  always  thought  he  had  a  yellow  streak  in  him  some- 
where. I  don't  think  you  need  fear  him  much." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  know  that,  not  that  I've  been 
very  uneasy,  but  we've  had  to  keep  a  pretty  close  look- 
out here,  and  it's  doubled  us  up  uncomfortably.  I 
want  to  go  out  to  my  timber  claim  this  afternoon, 
and  but  for  what  you've  said,  I  know  Bill  would 
insist  on  going  along.  Now  I  can  leave  him  here 
to  attend  to  his  work." 

Dorothy  was  opposed  to  the  idea  and  she  said  so, 
but  her  opinion  was  overridden  by  the  two  men. 
Trowbridge  declared  that  there  was  absolutely  noth- 
ing to  fear  from  Sheriff  Thomas,  at  least  immedi- 
ately. 

"I'm  positive  of  that,"  he  summed  up.  "If  there 
was  any  new  move  on  foot,  I'd  have  heard  of  it." 

"That  may  be,"  Dorothy  argued,  "but  you  know 
Senator  Rexhill  is  behind  him  to  urge  him  on." 

"That's  another  man  we  ought  to  run  out  of  this 
neighborhood,"  Trowbridge  declared.  "The  only 


178  HIDDEN  GOLD 

trouble  is  that  the  old  fox  has  laid  so  low  that  we 
havenlt  anything  definite  on  him.  We  can  suspect 
all  we  like;  but  when  it  comes  right  down  to  facts, 
he  has  us  guessing.  We  can't  prove  a  thing  against 
him,  and  he's  too  big  game  to  flush  without  powder. 
Well,  we'd  better  be  off." 

"Stay  a  while,"  Wade  urged.  "It's  early  yet.  I 
didn't  mean  to  hurry  you  when  I  spoke  of  going 
out  to  the  claim.  I've  got  plenty  of  time." 

"I  haven't  told  him  about  the  gold,"  Dorothy  whis- 
pered, as  he  helped  her  into  her  saddle.  "I  thought 
you  might  want  to  keep  it  quiet  for  the  present." 

"Sure,  we'll  tell  him,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand. 
"We're  all  on  the  same  side  in  this  business." 

He  explained  his  good  fortune  to  Trowbridge,  who 
was  delighted  and  enthusiastic  over  the  prospect  of 
the  vein  impinging  upon  his  own  range. 

"Well,  that  is  some  luck,  eh?"  Trowbridge  skill- 
fully managed  his  horse,  which  was  high-spirited 
enough  to  still  be  sportive  in  spite  of  the  long  ride 
of  the  morning.  "Every  cloud's  got  a  silver  lining, 
as  the  poet  says.  And  another  thing,  it  shows  Rex- 
hill's  real  motive,  don't  forget  that.  Oh,  we'll  get 
'em  by  and  by.  Sure  thing,  we  will.  Well,  so  long." 

"So  long,  Lem !    Call  on  us  when  you  want  us." 

"Good-by!"  Dorothy  waved  to  him  as  the  horses 
sped  away  in  the  direction  of  Crawling  Water. 

Wade  watched  them  out  of  sight,  and  then  entered 
the  house  to  tell  Santry  that  he  would  not  be  needed 
on  the  afternoon  trip  to  the  timber  claim.  The  old 


A  DASTARD'S  BLOW  179 

man  growled  a  little  at  the  idea  of  Wade  going  alone, 
but  he  finally  gave  in. 

"I'll  take  my  gun  and  keep  my  eye  peeled,"  his  em- 
ployer promised.  "If  I  can't  stand  off  trouble  until 
I  get  home,  or  you  can  get  to  me,  I'll  lose  my  bet. 
You've  got  your  work  to  do,  Bill.  If  you're  going 
to  nurse  me  all  the  time,  I'll  have  to  get  another  fore- 
man to  run  the  crew." 

He  rode  away,  then,  toward  the  foothills,  confident 
of  his  ability  to  look  after  himself  in  case  of  trouble. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  peaceful  aspect  of  the  range 
to  suggest  an  enemy,  but  he  kept  his  rifle  ready  and 
his  ears  and  eyes  open.  Once  he  paused  abruptly  when 
a  rabbit  jumped  out  of  a  clump  of  quaking-aspens,  a 
hundred  yards  ahead,  only  to  chuckle  at  his  own  over- 
caution. 

The  sun,  which  was  still  high,  was  shining  as  only 
a  Wyoming  sun  can  shine,  from  out  of  a  blue-vaulted 
canopy,  flecked  with  fleecy  clouds.  Swinging  from 
the  tops  of  the  sagebrush,  or  an  occasional  cotton- 
wood,  yellow-breasted  meadowlarks  were  singing 
sweetly.  At  intervals  a  flock  of  curlews  circled  above 
the  rider,  uttering  their  sharp,  plaintive  cries;  then 
they  would  drop  to  the  ground  and  run  rapidly  to 
and  fro  on  their  frail,  stilt-like  legs,  their  long  un- 
gainly bills  darting  from  side  to  side  in  search  of 
food. 

Over  the  plains,  from  which  Wade  now  turned,  hun- 
dreds of  red  and  white  cattle,  their  hides  as  sleek  as 
velvet,  were  grazing,  singly  and  in  scattered  groups, 


i8o  HIDDEN  GOLD 

as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  Toward  its  mouth,  the 
valley  was  spotted  with  many  fenced  alfalfa  fields,  and 
traversed  by  irrigation  ditches;  while  to  the  right, 
in  the  direction  in  which  Wade  now  rode,  rose  the 
timber  belt.  A  fresh,  soft  breeze,  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  clean,  damp  earth,  rustled  the  leaves  of  the 
cottonwoods,  some  of  which  were  of  enormous  size,  as 
the  horseman  pushed  his  way  farther  into  the  shadow 
of  the  mountains. 

After  a  careful  scrutiny,  which  satisfied  him  that 
the  vicinity  harbored  no  enemies,  he  dismounted,  but 
still  actuated  by  caution,  kept  the  bridle  reins  looped 
over  his  wrist,  as  he  searched  for  further  evidence  of 
gold.  Unlike  Santry,  the  ranchman  was  not  trained 
in  the  ways  of  prospecting,  and  he  began  to  regret  that 
he  had  not  allowed  the  foreman  to  accompany  him. 
He  followed  what  he  thought  were  promising  signs 
deeper  into  the  silence  of  the  tall  timber,  and  finally 
dropped  on  his  knees  to  make  sure  of  some  out- 
croppings  of  quartz  near  the  base  of  a  huge  bowlder. 
He  was  so  crouched  when  a  sudden  movement  of  his 
horse  warned  him  of  danger;  but  he  had  not  time  to 
arise  before  a  crushing  blow  on  the  head,  delivered 
from  behind,  shook  him  to  the  very  marrow  of  his 
spine.  With  a  low  groan,  he  toppled  over  onto  his 
face,  senseless. 

"Have  you  got  him?"  Moran  peered  around  the 
side  of  the  bowlder,  and  smiled  exultantly  when  he 
saw  Wade's  still  figure.  "Throw  him  across  your 
saddle,"  he  commanded,  "and  follow  me." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   FIRST    CLEW 

"LET'S  see!"  Trowbridge  reined  in  his  horse  and 
meditated,  when  he  and  Dorothy  had  covered  several 
miles  of  their  ride  back  to  Crawling  Water.  "Jensen 
was  shot  around  here  somewhere,  wasn't  he  ?" 

"I  think  it  was  over  there."  She  pointed  with  her 
quirt  in  the  direction  of  a  distant  clump  of  jack-pines. 
"Why?" 

"Suppose  we  ride  over  and  take  a  look  at  the  spot." 
He  smiled  at  her  little  shudder  of  repugnance.  "We 
haven't  any  Sherlock  Holmes  in  this  country,  and 
maybe  we  need  one.  I'll  have  a  try  at  it.  Come  on !" 

In  response  to  the  pressure  of  his  knees,  the  trained 
cow-pony  whirled  toward  the  jack-pines,  and  Dorothy 
followed,  laughing  at  the  idea  that  so  ingenuous  a 
man  as  Lem  Trowbridge  might  possess  the  analytical 
gift  of  the  trained  detective. 

"You!"  she  said  mockingly,  when  she  had  caught 
up  with  him.  "You're  as  transparent  as  glass;  not 
that  it  isn't  nice  to  be  that  way,  but  still  you  are. 
Besides,  the  rain  we've  had  must  have  washed  all  tracks 
away." 

"No  doubt,  but  we'll  have  a  look  anyhow.  It  won't 
do  any  harm.  Seriously,  though,  the  ways  of  crim- 
inals have  always  interested  me.  I'd  rather  read  a 
good  detective  story  than  anv  other  sort  of  yarn." 

181 


182  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"I  shouldn't  think  that  you  had  any  gift  that  way." 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  he  laughed. 
"It's  always  like  that.  Haven't  you  noticed  how  nearly 
every  man  thinks  he's  missed  his  calling;  that  if  he'd 
only  gone  in  for  something  else  he'd  have  been  a  rat- 
tling genius  at  it?  Just  to  show  you!  I've  got  a 
hand  over  at  the  ranch,  a  fellow  named  Barry,  who 
can  tie  down  a  steer  in  pretty  close  to  the  record. 
He's  a  born  cowman,  if  I  ever  saw  one,  but  do  you 
suppose  he  thinks  that's  his  line?" 

"Doesn't  he?"  she  asked  politely.  One  of  the 
secrets  of  her  popularity  lay  in  her  willingness  to  feed 
a  story  along  with  deft  little  interjections  of  interest. 

"He  does  not.  Poetry!  Shakespeare!  That's  his 
'forty' !  At  night  he  gets  out  a  book  and  reads  Hamlet 
to  the  rest  of  the  boys.  Thinks  that  if  he'd  ever  hit 
Broadway  with  a  show,  he'd  set  the  town  on  fire." 

When  Dorothy  laughed  heartily,  as  she  now  did,  the 
sound  of  it  was  worth  going  miles  to  hear.  There 
are  all  shades  of  temperament  and  character  in  laugh- 
ter, which  is  the  one  thing  of  which  we  are  least  self- 
conscious;  hers  revealed  not  only  a  sense  of  humor, 
rare  in  her  sex,  but  a  blithe,  happy  nature,  which  made 
allies  at  once  of  those  upon  whose  ears  her  merri- 
ment fell.  Trowbridge's  eyes  sparkled  with  his  ap- 
preciation of  it. 

"Well,  maybe  he  would,"  she  said,  finally. 

"Maybe  I'll  make  good  along  with  Sherlock 
Holmes."  He  winked  at  her  as  he  slipped  from  his 
horse's  back,  on  the  edge  of  a  rocky  knoll,  fronting 
the  jack-pines.  "This  is  the  place,  I  reckon."  His 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  183 

quick  eyes  had  caught  a  dark  stain  on  a  flat  rock, 
which  the  rain  had  failed  to  cleanse  entirely  of  the 
dead  herders'  blood. 

When  Dorothy  saw  it,  too,  her  mirth  subsided.  To 
her  mind,  the  thought  of  death  was  most  horrible, 
and  especially  so  in  the  case  of  a  murderous  death, 
such  as  had  befallen  the  sheep  men.  Not  only  was  the 
thing  horrible  in  itself,  but  still  more  so  in  its  sug- 
gestion of  the  dangers  which  threatened  her  friends. 

"Do  hurry !"  she  begged.  "There  can't  be  anything 
here." 

"Just  a  minute  or  two."  Struck  by  the  note  of  ap- 
peal in  her  voice,  so  unlike  its  lilt  of  the  moment 
before,  he  added :  "Ride  on  if  you  want  to." 

"No,"  she  shuddered.  "I'll  wait,  but  please  be 
quick." 

It  was  well  for  her  companion  that  she  did  wait,  or 
at  least  that  she  was  with  him  for,  when  he  had  in- 
spected the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  shooting,  he 
stepped  backward  from  the  top  of  the  knoll  into  a 
little,  brush-filled  hollow,  in  which  lay  a  rattlesnake. 
Deeply  interested  in  his  search,  he  did  not  hear  the 
warning  rattle,  and  Dorothy  might  not  have  noticed 
it  either  had  not  her  pony  raised  its  head,  with  a  start 
and  a  snort.  Glancing  over  her  shoulder,  she  saw 
the  snake  and  called  out  sharply. 

"Look  out,  behind  you,  Lem !" 

There  are  men,  calling  themselves  conjurors,  who 
perform  prodigies  of  agility  with  coins,  playing-cards, 
and  other  articles  of  legerdemain,  but  they  are  not 
so  quick  as  was  Trowbridge  in  springing  sidewise 


184  HIDDEN  GOLD 

from  the  menacing  snake.  In  still  quicker  movement, 
the  heavy  Colt  at  his  side  leaped  from  its  holster.  The 
next  second  the  rattle  had  ceased  forever,  for  the 
snake's  head  had  been  neatly  cut  from  its  body. 

"Close  call !  Thanks !"  Trowbridge  slid  his  weapon 
back  into  its  resting  place  and  smiled  up  at  her. 

So  close,  indeed,  had  the  call  been  that,  coming  upon 
the  dreadful  associations  of  the  spot,  Dorothy  was 
unnerved.  Her  skin  turned  a  sickly  white  and  her 
lips  were  trembling,  but  not  more  so  than  were  the 
flanks  of  the  horses,  which  seemed  to  be  in  an  agony 
of  fear.  When  the  girl  saw  Trowbridge  pick  up  a 
withered  stick  and  coolly  explore  the  recesses  of  a 
small  hole  near  which  the  snake  had  been  coiled,  she 
rebelled. 

"I'm  not  going  to  stay  here  another  minute,"  she 
declared  hotly. 

"Just  a  second.  There  may  be  another  one.  .  .  . 
Oh,  all  right,  go  on,  then,"  he  called  out,  as  she  whirled 
her  pony  and  started  off.  "I'll  catch  you.  Ride  slow !" 

He  looked  after  her  with  a  smile  of  amusement,  be- 
fore renewing  his  efforts  with  the  stick,  holding  his 
bridle  reins  with  one  hand  so  that  his  horse  could  not 
follow  hers.  To  his  disappointment  there  seemed  to 
be  nothing  in  the  hole,  but  his  prodding  suddenly  de- 
veloped an  amazing  fact.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
dropping  the  stick  and  mounting  his  horse,  when  he 
noticed  a  small  piece  of  metal  in  the  leaves  and  grass 
at  the  mouth  of  the  hole.  It  was  an  empty  cartridge 
shell. 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  185 

"By  Glory!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  examined  it.  "A 
clew,  or  I'm  a  sinner!" 

Swinging  into  his  saddle,  he  raced  after  Dorothy, 
shouting  to  her  as  he  rode.  In  her  pique,  she  would 
not  answer  his  hail,  or  turn  in  her  saddle;  but  he  was 
too  exultant  to  care.  He  was  concerned  only  with 
overtaking  her  that  he  might  tell  her  what  he  had 
found. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!"  he  said,  when  by  a  liberal 
use  of  his  spurs  he  caught  up  with  her.  "What  do  you 
think  this  is,  a  circus?" 

"You  can  keep  up,  can't  you?"  she  retorted  banter- 
ingly. 

"Sure,  I  can  keep  up,  all  right."  He  reached  out 
and  caught  her  bridle  rein,  pulling  her  pony  down  to 
a  walk  in  spite  of  her  protests.  "I  want  to  show  you 
something.  You  can't  see  it  riding  like  a  jockey. 
Look  here!"  He  handed  her  the  shell.  "You  see,  if 
I  had  come  when  you  wanted  me  to,  I  wouldn't  have 
found  it.  That's  what's  called  the  detective  instinct, 
I  reckon,"  he  added,  with  a  grin.  "Guess  I'm  some 
little  Sherlock,  after  all." 

"Whose  is  it?"  She  turned  the  shell  over  in  her 
palm  a  trifle  gingerly. 

"Look !"  He  took  it  from  her  and  pointed  out  where 
it  had  been  dented  by  the  firing-pin.  "I  reckon  you 
wouldn't  know,  not  being  up  in  fire-arms.  The  ham- 
mer that  struck  this  shell  didn't  hit  true;  not  so  far 
off  as  to  miss  fire,  you  understand,  but  it  ain't  in  line 
exactly.  That  tells  me  a  lot." 


i86  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"What  does  it  tell  you?"  She  looked  up  at  him 
quickly. 

"Well,"  he  spoke  slowly,  "there  ain't  but  one  gun 
in  Crawling  Water  that  has  that  peculiarity,  that  I 
know  of,  and  that  one  belongs,  or  did  belong,  to  Tug 
Bailey." 

She  caught  at  his  arm  impulsively  so  that  both 
horses  were  brought  to  a  standstill. 

"Then  he  shot  Jensen,  Lem?" 

Her  voice  was  tremulous  with  eagerness,  for  al- 
though she  had  never  doubted  Wade  Or  Santry;  had 
never  thought  for  a  moment  that  either  man  could  have 
committed  the  crime,  or  have  planned  it,  she  wanted 
them  cleared  of  the  doubt  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 
Her  disappointment  was  acute  when  she  saw  that 
Trowbridge  did  not  deem  the  shell  to  be  convincing 
proof  of  Bailey's  guilt. 

"Don't  go  too  fast  now,  Dorothy,"  he  cautioned. 
"This  shell  proves  that  Bailey's  gun  was  fired,  but  it 
doesn't  prove  that  Bailey's  finger  pulled  the  trigger, 
or  that  the  gun  was  aimed  at  Jensen.  Bailey  might 
have  loaned  the  rifle  to  somebody,  or  he  might  have 
fired  at  a  snake,  like  I  did  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"Oh,  he  might  have  done  anything,  of  course.  But 
the  shell  is  some  evidence,  isn't  it?  It  casts  the  doubt 
on  Tug  Bailey,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  does  that,  all  right.  It  casts  it  further 
than  him."  The  cattleman  spoke  positively.  "It's  a 
clew,  that's  what  it  is.  We've  got  a  clew  and  we've 
got  a  motive,  and  we  didn't  have  either  of  them  yes- 
terday." 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  187 

"How  do  you  suppose  that  shell  got  where  you 
found  it?"  she  asked,  her  voice  full  of  hope. 

"Bailey  must  have  levered  it  out  of  his  rifle,  after 
the  shooting,  and  it  fell  into  that  hole.  You  see," — 
he  could  not  resist  making  the  triumphant  point  once 
more, — "if  I  hadn't  stopped  to  look  for  another  rat- 
tler, I  never  would  have  found  it.  Just  that  chance — 
just  a  little  chance  like  that — throws  the  biggest  crimi- 
nals. Funny,  ain't  it?"  But  she  was  too  preoccupied 
with  the  importance  of  the  discovery  to  dwell  on  his 
gifts  as  a  sleuth. 

"What  can  we  do  about  it,  Lem?"  She  gave  her 
pony  her  head  and  they  began  to  move  slowly.  "What 
ought  we  to  do?" 

"I'll  find  this  fellow,  Bailey,  and  wring  the  truth 
out  of  him,"  he  answered  grimly;  and  her  eyes  spar- 
kled. "If  I'm  not  greatly  mistaken,  though,  he  was 
only  the  tool." 

"Meaning  that  Moran  .  .  ." 

"And  Rexhill,"  Trowbridge  snapped.  "They  are 
the  men  higher  up,  and  the  game  we're  really  gun- 
ning for.  They  hired  Bailey  to  shoot  Jensen  so  that 
the  crime  might  be  fastened  on  to  Gordon.  I  believe 
that  as  fully  as  I'm  alive  this  minute;  the  point  is  to 
prove  it." 

"Then  we've  no  time  to  waste,"  she  said,  touching 
her  pony  with  the  quirt.  "We  mustn't  loiter  here. 
Suppose  Bailey  has  been  sent  away?" 

The  thought  of  this  caused  them  to  urge  their  tired 
horses  along  at  speed.  Many  times  during  the  ride 
which  followed  Trowbridge  looked  admiringly  at  his 


188  HIDDEN  GOLD 

companion  as  she  rode  on,  untiringly,  side  by  side  with 
him.  A  single  man  himself,  he  had  come  to  feel  very 
tenderly  toward  her,  but  he  had  no  hope  of  winning 
her.  She  had  never  been  more  than  good  friends  with 
him,  and  he  realized  her  feeling  for  Wade,  but  this 
knowledge  did  not  make  him  less  keen  in  his  admira- 
tion of  her. 

"Good  luck  to  you,  Lem,"  she  said,  giving  him  her 
hand,  as  they  paused  at  the  head  of  Crawling  Water's 
main  street.  "Let  me  know  what  yoa  do  as  soon  as 
you  can.  I'll  be  anxious." 

He  nodded. 

"I  know  about  where  to  find  him,  if  he's  in  town. 
Oh,  we're  slowly  getting  it  on  them,  Dorothy.  We'll 
be  ready  to  'call'  them  pretty  soon.  Good-by!" 

Tug  Bailey,  however,  was  not  in  town,  as  the  cattle- 
man learned  at  Monte  Joe's  dance-hall,  piled  high  with 
tables  and  chairs  and  reeking  with  the  stench,  left  over 
from  the  previous  night,  of  whiskey  fumes  and  stale 
tobacco  smoke.  Monte  Joe  professed  not  to  know 
where  the  puncher  had  gone,  but  as  Trowbridge  pressed 
him  for  information  the  voice  of  a  woman,  as  shrill 
as  the  squawk  of  a  parrot,  floated  down  from  the 
floor  above. 

"Wait  a  minute." 

Trowbridge  waited  and  the  woman  came  down  to 
him.  He  knew  her  by  ill-repute,  as  did  every  man 
in  the  town,  for  she  was  Pansy  Madder,  one  of  the 
dance-hall  habitues,  good-looking  enough  by  night  to 
the  inflamed  fancy,  but  repulsive  by  day,  with  her  sod- 
den skin  and  hard  eyes. 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  189 

"You  want  to  know  where  Tug  is?"  she  demanded. 

"Yes,  where  is  he?" 

"He's  headed  for  Sheridan,  I  reckon.  If  he  ain't 
headed  there,  he'll  strike  the  railroad  at  some  other 
point;  him  and  that — Nellie  Lewis,  that  he's  skipped 
with."  Her  lusterless  eyes  were  fired  by  the  only  thing 
that  could  fire  them :  her  bitter  jealousy. 

"You're  sure?"  Trowbridge  persisted,  a  little  doubt- 
fully. 

"Sure?  Of  course,  I'm  sure.  Say," — she  clutched 
at  his  arm  as  he  turned  away, — "if  he's  wanted  for 
anything,  bring  him  back  here,  will  you?  Promise  me 
that !  Let  me" — her  pale  lips  were  twisted  by  an  ugly 
smile — "get  my  hands  on  him!" 

From  the  dance-hall,  Trowbridge  hastened  to  the 
jail  to  swear  out  a  warrant  for  Bailey's  arrest  and 
to  demand  that  Sheriff  Thomas  telegraph  to  Sheri- 
dan and  to  the  two  points  above  and  below,  Ranchester 
and  Clearmont,  to  head  off  the  fugitive  there.  Not 
knowing  how  far  the  Sheriff  might  be  under  the  domi- 
nance of  the  Rexhill  faction,  the  cattleman  was  not 
sure  that  he  could  count  upon  assistance  from  the 
official.  He  meant,  if  he  saw  signs  of  indecision,  to 
do  the  telegraphing  himself  and  to  sign  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  message  the  name  of  every  ranch  owner 
in  the  district.  That  should  be  enough  to  awaken  the 
law  along  the  railroad  without  help  from  Thomas,  and 
Trowbridge  knew  that  such  action  would  be  backed 
up  by  his  associates. 

He  had  no  trouble  on  this  score,  however,  for  Sher- 
iff Thomas  was  away  on  the  trail  of  a  horse-thief,  and 


190  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  deputy  in  charge  of  the  jail  was  of  sturdier  char- 
acter than  his  chief. 

"Will  I  help  you,  Lem?"  he  exclaimed.  "Say,  will 
a  cat  drink  milk?  You  bet  I'll  help  you.  Between 
you  and  me,  I've  been  so  damned  ashamed  of  what's 
been  doing  in  this  here  office  lately  that  I'm  aching  for 
a  chance  to  square  myself.  I'll  send  them  wires  off 
immediate." 

"I  reckon  you're  due  to  be  the  next  Sheriff  in  this 
county,  Steve,"  Trowbridge  responded  gratefully. 
"There's  going  to  be  a  change  here  before  long." 

"That  so?  Well,  I  ain't  sayin'  that  I'd  refuse,  but 
I  ain't  doin*  this  as  no  favor,  either,  you  understand. 
I'm  doin'  it  because  it's  the  law,  the  good  old-fash- 
ioned, honest  to  Gawd,  s'help  me  die,  law !" 

"That's  the  kind  we  want  here — that,  or  no  kind. 
So  long,  Steve!" 

With  a  nod  of  relief,  Trowbridge  left  the  jail,  well- 
satisfied  that  he  had  done  a  good  turn  for  Wade,  and 
pleased  with  himself  for  having  lived  so  well  up  to 
the  standards  set  by  the  detectives  of  popular  fiction. 
Since  Bailey  had  not  had  time  to  reach  the  railroad, 
his  arrest  was  now  almost  a  certainty,  and  once  he 
was  back  in  Crawling  Water,  a  bucket  of  hot  tar  and 
a  bundle  of  feathers,  with  a  promise  of  immunity  for 
himself,  would  doubtless  be  sufficient  to  extract  a  con- 
fession from  him  which  would  implicate  Rexhill  and 
Moran. 

Feeling  that  he  had  earned  the  refreshment  of  a 
drink,  the  cattleman  was  about  to  enter  the  hotel  when, 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  191 

to  his  consternation,  he  saw  tearing  madly  down  the 
street  toward  him  Bill  Santry,  on  a  horse  that  had 
evidently  been  ridden  to  the  very  last  spurt  of  en- 
durance. He  ran  forward  at  once,  for  the  appearance 
of  the  old  man  in  Crawling  Water,  with  a  warrant 
for  murder  hanging  over  his  head,  could  only  mean 
that  some  tragedy  had  happened  at  the  ranch. 

"Hello,  Lem!"  Santry  greeted  him.  "You're  just 
the  man  I'm  lookin'  for." 

"What's  the  trouble?"  Trowbridge  demanded. 

"The  boy !"  The  old  plainsman  slid  from  his  horse, 
which  could  hardly  keep  its  feet,  but  was  scarcely  more 
spent  in  body  than  its  rider  was  in  nerve.  His  face 
was  twitching  in  a  way  that  might  have  been  ludicrous 
but  for  its  significance.  "They've  ambushed  him,  I 
reckon.  I  come  straight  in  after  you,  knowin'  that 
you'd  have  a  cooler  head  for  this  here  thing  than — 
than  I  have." 

"My  God !"  The  exclamation  shot  from  Trow- 
bridge like  the  crack  of  a  gun.  "How  did  it  happen?" 

Santry  explained  the  details,  in  so  far  as  he  knew 
them,  in  a  few  breathless  sentences.  The  old  man  was 
clearly  almost  beside  himself  with  grief  and  rage,  and 
past  the  capacity  to  act  intelligently  upon  his  own 
initiative.  He  had  not  been  satisfied,  he  said,  to  re- 
main behind  at  the  ranch  and  let  Wade  go  to  the 
timber  tract  alone,  and  so  after  a  period  of  indeci- 
sion he  had  followed  him.  Near  the  edge  of  the  tim- 
ber he  had  come  upon  Wade's  riderless  horse,  trailing 
broken  bridle  reins.  He  had  followed  the  animal's 


192  HIDDEN  GOLD 

tracks  back  to  the  point  of  the  assault,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  Wade,  which  fact  indicated  that  he  had 
been  carried  away  by  those  who  had  overcome  him. 

"I  could  see  by  the  tracks  that  there  was  a  number 
of  'em ;  as  many  as  five  or  six,"  the  old  man  summed 
up.  "I  followed  their  sign  as  far  as  I  could,  but  I 
lost  it  at  the  creek.  Then  I  went  back  to  the  house 
and  sent  some  of  the  boys  out  to  scout  around  before 
I  come  down  here  after  you." 

"Where  do  you  suppose  they  could  have  taken  him  ?" 
Trowbridge  asked.  "They'd  never  dare  bring  him  to 
town." 

"Gawd  knows,  Lem!  There's  more  pockets  and 
drifts  up  in  them  hills  than  there  is  jack-rabbits. 
'Tain't  likely  the  boys'll  find  any  new  sign,  leastways 

not  in  time;  not  before  that  of  a  Moran — it 

was  him  did  it,  damn  him!  I  know  it  was.  Lem, 
for  Gawd's  sake,  what  are  we  goin'  to  do?" 

"The  first  thing  to  do,  Bill,  is  to  get  you  out  of  this 
town,  before  Thomas  shows  up  and  jumps  you." 

"I  don't  keer  for  myself.     I'll  shoot  the  .  .  ." 

"Luckily,  he's  away  just  now,"  Trowbridge  went 
on,  ignoring  the  interruption.  "Come  with  me!"  He 
led  the  way  into  the  hotel.  "Frank,"  he  said  to  the 
red-headed  proprietor,  "is  Moran  in  town  to-day?" 

"Nope."  The  Irishman  regarded  Santry  with  in- 
terest. "He  went  out  this  morning  with  four  or  five 
men." 

"Rexhill's  here,  ain't  he?"  Trowbridge  asked  then. 
"Tell  him  there's  two  gentlemen  here  to  see  him. 
Needn't  mention  any  names.  He  doesn't  know  me." 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  193 

When  Santry,  with  the  instinct  of  his  breed,  hitched 
his  revolver  to  a  more  convenient  position  on  his  hip, 
Trowbridge  reached  out  and  took  it  away  from  him. 
He  dared  not  trust  the  old  man  in  his  present  mood. 
He  intended  to  question  the  Senator,  to  probe  him, 
perhaps  to  threaten  him;  but  the  time  had  not  come 
to  shoot  him. 

"I'll  keep  this  for  you,  Bill,"  he  said  soothingly,  and 
dropped  the  weapon  into  his  coat  pocket.  "I'm  going 
to  take  you  up  with  me,  for  the  sake  of  the  effect  of 
that  face  of  yours,  looking  the  way  it  does  right  now. 
But  I'll  do  the  talking,  mind!  It  won't  take  long. 
We're  going  to  act  some,  too." 

Their  visit  had  no  visible  effect  upon  Rexhill,  how- 
ever, who  was  too  much  master  of  himself  to  be  caught 
off  his  guard  in  a  game  which  had  reached  the  point 
of  constant  surprise.  His  manner  was  not  concilia- 
tory, for  the  meeting  was  frankly  hostile,  but  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  perturbed  by  it.  He  had  not  sup- 
posed that  the  extremes  he  had  sanctioned  could  be 
carried  through  without  difficulty,  and  he  was  pre- 
pared to  meet  any  attack  that  might  be  offered  by 
the  enemy. 

"Senator  Rexhill,"  Trowbridge  introduced  himself, 
"you've  never  met  me.  I'm  from  the  Piah  Creek 
country.  My  name  is  Trowbridge." 

"Yes,"  the  Senator  nodded.  "I've  heard  of  you.  I 
know  your  friend  there  by  sight."  He  lingered  slightly 
over  the  word  "friend"  as  he  glanced  toward  Santry, 
"There's  a  warrant  out  for  him,  I  believe." 

"Yes.     There's  a  warrant  out  for  one  of  your — 


194  HIDDEN  GOLD 

friends,  too,  Tug  Bailey,"  Trowbridge  retorted  dryly, 
hoping  that  something  would  eventuate  from  his 
repartee;  but  nothing  did.  If  the  news  surprised  Rex- 
hill,  as  it  must  have,  he  did  not  show  it.  "I've  just 
sworn  it  out,"  the  rancher  continued,  "but  that's  not 
why  I'm  here.  I'm  here  to  tell  you  that  Gordon  Wade, 
whom  you  know,  has  been  kidnaped." 

Santry  stifled  an  exclamation  of  rage  in  answer  to 
a  quick  look  from  his  friend. 

"Kidnaped  from  his  own  range  in  broad  daylight," 
the  latter  went  on.  "I  represent  his  friends,  who  mean 
to  find  him  right  away,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that 
you  may  be  able  to  assist  us  in  our  search." 

"Just  why  has  that  idea  occurred  to  you?"  Rexhill 
asked  calmly,  as  though  out  of  mere  curiosity.  "I'd 
like  to  know." 

A  bit  baffled  by  this  attitude  of  composure,  Trow- 
bridge hesitated,  for  it  was  not  at  all  what  he  had 
expected  to  combat.  If  the  Senator  had  flown  into 
a  passion,  the  cattleman  would  have  responded  with 
equal  heat;  now  he  was  less  sure  of  himself  and  his 
ground.  It  was  barely  possible,  after  all,  that  Tug 
Bailey  had  shot  Jensen  out  of  personal  spite;  or,  at 
the  worst,  had  been  the  tool  of  Moran  alone.  One 
could  hardly  associate  the  thought  of  murder  with 
the  very  prosperous  looking  gentleman,  who  so  calmly 
faced  them  and  twirled  his  eyeglasses  between  his 
fingers. 

"Why  should  that  idea  have  occurred  to  you?"  the 
Senator  asked  again.  "So  far  as  I  am  informed,  Wade 
i?  also  liable  to  arrest  for  complicity  in  the  Jensen 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  19$ 

murder;  in  addition  to  which  he  has  effected  a  jail 
delivery  and  burglarized  my  office.  It  seems  to  me, 
if  he  has  been  kidnaped  as  you  say,  that  I  am  the  last 
person  to  have  any  interest  in  his  welfare,  or  his  where- 
abouts. Why  do  you  come  to  me?" 

This  was  too  much  for  Santry's  self-restraint. 

"What's  the  use  of  talkin'  to  him?"  he  demanded. 
"If  he  ain't  done  it  himself,  don't  we  know  that  Moran 
done  it  for  him  ?  To  hell  with  talkin' !"  He  shook  a 
gnarled  fist  at  Rexhill,  who  paid  no  attention  whatever 
to  him,  but  deliberately  looked  in  another  direction. 

"That  is  why  we  are  here,"  said  Trowbridge,  when 
he  had  quieted  Santry  once  more.  "Because  we  have 
good  reason  to  believe  that,  if  these  acts  do  not  pro- 
ceed from  you,  they  do  proceed  from  your  agent,  and 
you're  responsible  for  what  he  does,  if  I  know  any- 
thing about  law.  This  man  Moran  has  carried  things 
with  a  high  hand  in  this  community,  but  now  he's 
come  to  the  end  of  his  rope,  and  he's  going  to  be 
punished.  That  means  that  you'll  get  yours,  too,  if 
he's  acted  under  your  orders."  The  cattleman  was 
getting  into  his  stride  now  that  the  first  moments  of 
his  embarrassment  were  passed.  His  voice  rang  with 
authority,  which  the  Senator  was  quick  to  recognize, 
although  he  gave  no  evidence  that  he  was  impressed. 
"Has  Moran  been  acting  for  you,  that's  what  we  want 
to  know?" 

"My  dear  fellow," — Rexhill  laughed  rumblingly, — 
"if  you'll  only  stop  for  an  instant  to  think,  you'll  see 
how  absurd  this  is." 

"A  frank  answer  to  a  frank  question,"  Trowbridge: 


196  HIDDEN  GOLD 

persisted.  "Has  he  been  acting  for  you?  Do  you, 
at  this  moment,  know  what  has  become  of  Wade,  or 
where  he  is?" 

"That's  the  stuff!"  growled  Santry,  whose  temples 
were  throbbing  under  the  effort  he  put  forth  to  hold 
himself  within  bounds. 

"I  do  not!"  the  Senator  said,  bluntly.  "And  I'll 
say  freely  that  I  would  not  tell  you  if  I  did." 

Santry's  hands  opened  and  shut  convulsively.  He 
was  in  the  act  of  springing  upon  Rexhill  when  T  row- 
bridge  seized  him. 

"You're  a  liar!"  he  roared,  struggling  in  his  friend's 
grasp.  "Let  me  at  him.  By  the  great  horned  toad, 
I'll  make  him  tell !" 

"Put  that  man  out  of  this  room!"  Rexhill  had 
arisen  in  all  of  his  ponderous  majesty,  roused  to  wrath 
at  last.  His  pudgy  finger  shook  as  he  pointed  to  the 
door,  and  his  fat  face  was  congested.  "I'm  not  here 
to  be  insulted  by  a  jail-bird.  Put  him  out !" 

Trowbridge's  eyes  gleamed  exultantly,  although  he 
still  kept  a  tight  hold  on  Santry,  for  this  was  the  sort 
of  thing  he  had  expected  to  meet.  He  had  not  thought 
that  Rexhill  would  confess  complicity  in  the  kidnaping 
thus  early  in  the  game;  but  he  had  looked  for  an  out- 
burst of  anger  which  would  give  him  the  chance  he 
wanted  to  free  his  own  mind  of  the  hate  that  was  in 
it.  He  had  wanted  the  chance  to  make  Rexhill  feel 
that  his  hour  of  atonement  was  close  at  hand,  and  get- 
ting nearer  every  minute. 

"Easy,  now!"  he  admonished.  "We're  going,  both 
of  us,  but  we  won't  be  put  out.  You've  said  just  what 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  197 

I  looked  for  you  to  say.  You've  denied  knowledge 
of  this  thing.  I  think  with  Santry  here  that  you're 
a  liar,  a  God-forsaken  liar."  He  drew  closer  to  the 
Senator,  who  seemed  about  to  burst  with  passion,  and 
held  him  with  a  gaze  his  fury  could  not  daunt.  "May 
Heaven  help  you,  Senator,  when  we're  ready  to  prove 
all  this  against  you.  If  you're  in  Crawling  Water 
then,  we'll  ride  you  to  hell  on  a  rail." 

"Now,"  Trowbridge  said  to  Santry,  when  they  were 
downstairs  again,  "you  get  out  of  town  hot-foot.  Ride 
to  my  place.  Take  this!"  He  scribbled  a  few  lines 
on  the  back  of  an  envelope.  "Give  it  to  my  foreman. 
Tell  him  to  meet  me  with  the  boys  where  the  trail 
divides.  We'll  find  Wade,  if  we  have  to  trade  our 
beds  for  lanterns  and  kill  every  horse  in  the  valley.'* 
The  two  men  shook  hands,  and  Santry's  eyes  were 
fired  with  a  new  hope.  The  old  man  was  grateful  for 
one  thing,  at  least:  the  time  for  action  had  arrived. 
He  had  spent  his  youth  on  the  plains  in  the  days  when 
every  man  was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  the  years  had 
not  lessened  his  spirit. 

"I'll  be  right  after  you,  Bill,"  Trowbridge  concluded. 
"I'm  going  first  to  break  the  news  to  Miss  Purnell. 
She'd  hear  it  anyway  and  be  anxious.  She'd  better 
get  it  straight  from  me." 

Lem  Trowbridge  had  seen  only  one  woman  faintr 
but  the  recollection  was  indelibly  impressed  upon  his 
mind.  It  had  happened  in  his  boyhood,  at  the  ranch 
where  he  still  lived,  when  a  messenger  had  arrived  with 
word  of  the  death  of  the  elder  Trowbridge,  whose 
horse  had  stepped  into  a  prairie-dog  hole  and  fallen 


198  HIDDEN  GOLD 

with  his  rider.  The  picture  of  his  mother's  collapse 
he  could  never  forget,  or  his  own  horrible  thought  that 
she,  too,  had  passed  away,  leaving  him  parentless. 
For  months  afterwards  he  had  awakened  at  night, 
crying  out  that  she  was  dead. 

The  whole  scene  recurred  to  him  when  he  told  Doro- 
thy of  Wade's  disappearance,  and  saw  her  face  flush 
and  then  pale,  as  his  mother's  had  done.  The  girl  did 
not  actually  faint,  for  she  was  young  and  wonderfully 
strong,  but  she  came  so  near  to  it  that  he  was  obliged 
to  support  her  with  his  arm  to  keep  her  on  her  feet. 
That  was  cruel,  too,  for  he  loved  her.  But  presently 
she  recovered,  and  swept  from  his  mind  all  thought 
of  himself  by  her  piteous  appeal  to  him  to  go  instantly 
in  search  of  Wade. 

"We'll  find  him,  Dorothy,  don't  you  worry,"  he 
declared,  with  an  appearance  of  confidence  he  was 
far  from  feeling.  "I  came  around  to  tell  you  myself 
because  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  we  are  right  on 
the  job." 

""Rut  how  can  you  find  him  in  all  those  mountains, 
Hem?  You  don't  even  know  which  side  of  the  range 
they've  hidden  him  on." 

He  reminded  her  that  he  had  been  born  in  Crawling 
Water  Valley,  and  that  he  knew  every  draw  and  can- 
yon in  the  mountains;  but  in  his  heart  he  realized 
that  to  search  all  these  places  would  take  half  a  life- 
time He  could  only  hope  that  chance,  or  good  for- 
tune, might  lead  them  promptly  to  the  spot  they  sought. 

"Do  you  think  that  Senator  Rexhill  knows  where 
Gordon  is?"  she  asked.  "Is  he  in  this,  too?" 


THE  FIRST  CLEW  199 

"I  don't  know  for  sure,"  he  answered.  "I  believe 
Moran  is  acting  under  Rexhill's  orders,  but  I  don't 
know  how  much  Rexhill  knows  of  the  details.  If  I 
knew  that,  it  would  be  fairly  easy.  I'd  .  .  ."  His 
strong  hands  gripped  the  back  of  a  chair  until  his 
knuckles  showed  white  under  their  tan.  "I'd  choke  it 
out  of  him!" 

"Oh,  if  there  was  only  something  I  could  do !"  Doro- 
thy wailed  helplessly.  "A  woman  never  can  do  any- 
thing in  a  crisis  but  -wait!"  Her  distress  was  so  piti- 
able to  witness  that  Trowbridge  averted  his  gaze. 

"We'll  do  all  that  can  be  done,  Dorothy,"  he  as- 
sured her.  "Trust  me  for  that  Besides — "  A 
thought  had  just  flashed  into  his  head  which  might 
relieve  her  sense  of  helplessness.  "Besides,  we're  go- 
ing to  need  you  here  in  town  to  keep  us  informed  of 
what  goes  on." 

"If  I  learn  anything,  how  can  I  get  word  to  you?" 
she  asked,  her  face  brightening  somewhat.  "You'll  be 
up  in  the  hills." 

"I'll  try  to  keep  a  man  at  the  big  pine  all  the  time. 
If  you  find  out  anything  send  word  to  him." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will,  I  will.  That'll  be  something  any- 
how." Her  eyes  sparkling  with  tears,  she  gave  him 
both  her  hands.  "Good-by,  Lem!" 

"Good-by,  Dorothy,"  he  said  solemnly,  wringing  her 
hands.  "I  know  just  how  it  is.  We'll  find  him  for 
you!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TRAPPED 

WHEN  Wade  first  opened  his  eyes,  after  he  had 
been  stricken  senseless,  he  was  first  conscious  of  his 
throbbing  head,  and  on  seeking  the  reason  of  the  pain, 
was  amazed  to  find  his  fingers  stained  with  the  blood 
which  matted  his  hair.  With  an  exclamation  he 
struggled  to  his  feet,  still  too  dazed  to  think  clearly, 
but  sufficiently  aroused  to  be  startled  by  the  predica- 
ment in  which  he  found  himself. 

He  was  at  the  bottom  of  a  rock-walled  fissure,  about 
six  feet  wide  by  twenty  feet  in  length.  There  was 
no  way  to  climb  out  of  this  natural  prison,  for  its 
granite  sides,  fifteen  feet  in  height,  were  without  crack, 
projection,  or  other  foothold;  indeed,  in  the  light  of 
the  afternoon  sun,  one  fagade  shone  smooth  as  glass. 
If  he  should  be  left  there  without  sustenance,  he  told 
himself,  he  might  as  well  be  entombed;  then,  to  his 
delight,  he  caught  the  sound  of  splashing  water.  At 
least,  he  would  not  perish  of  thirst,  for  at  one  end 
of  the  rocky  chamber  a  tiny  stream  fell  down  the  face 
of  the  cliff,  to  disappear  afterward  through  a  narrow 
cleft.  A  draught  of  the  cool  water  refreshed  him 
somewhat,  and  when  he  had  bathed  his  head  as  well 
as  he  could,  he  sat  down  on  the  warm  sand  to  think 
over  the  situation. 

200 


TRAPPED  201 

Now  that  his  brain  was  clearing  he  felt  sure  that 
his  capture  was  the  work  of  Moran,  doubtless  planned 
as  a  revenge  for  the  events  of  their  last  meeting,  al- 
though what  shape  this  revenge  was  to  take  the  rattle- 
man  could  not  guess.  He  feared  that  he  would  either 
be  shot  or  left  to  starve  in  this  cul-dc-sac  in  the  hills. 
The  thought  of  all  that  he  and  his  friends  had  suffered 
through  Moran  lashed  the  ranchman  temporarily  to 
fury;  but  that  he  soon  controlled  as  well  as  he  could, 
for  he  found  its  only  result  was  to  increase  the  pain 
in  his  head,  without  aiding  to  solve  the  problem  of 
escape.  The  prospect  of  getting  out  of  his  prison 
seemed  remote,  for  one  glance  at  its  precipitate  walls 
had  shown  him  that  not  even  a  mountain  goat  could 
scale  them.  Help,  if  it  came  at  all,  must  come  through 
Santry,  who  could  be  counted  on  to  arouse  the  coun- 
tryside. The  thought  of  the  state  the  old  man  must 
be  in  worried  Wade;  and  he  was  too  familiar  with 
the  vast  number  of  small  canyons  and  hidden  pockets 
in  the  mountains  to  believe  that  his  friends  would  soon 
find  him.  Before  help  could  reach  him,  undoubtedly 
Moran  would  show  his  hand,  in  which  for  the  present 
were  all  the  trumps. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  cattleman  that,  with 
the  full  realization  of  his  danger,  should  come  a  great 
calm.  He  had  too  lively  an  imagination  to  be  called 
a  man  of  iron  nerve,  for  that  quality  of  courage  is 
not  so  often  a  virtue  as  a  lack  of  sensitiveness.  He 
who  is  courageous  because  he  knows  no  fear  is  not 
so  brave  by  half  as  he  who  gauges  the  extent  of  his 
peril  and  rises  superior  to  it.  Wade's  courage  was 


202  HIDDEN  GOLD 

<of  the  latter  sort,  an  ascendency  of  the  mind  over 
the  flesh.  Whenever  danger  threatened  him,  his  nerves 
responded  to  his  need  with  the  precision  of  the  taut 
strings  of  a  perfectly  tuned  fiddle  under  a  master 
hand.  He  had  been  more  nervous,  many  a  time,  over 
the  thought  of  some  one  of  his  men  riding  a  dan- 
gerous horse  or  turning  a  stampede,  than  he  was  now 
that  his  own  life  seemed  threatened. 

Shrugging  his  broad  shoulders,  he  rolled  and 
smoked  a  cigarette.  The  slight  exhilaration  of  the 
smoke,  acting  on  his  weakened  condition,  together  with 
the  slight  dizziness  still  remaining  from  the  blow  on 
Tiis  head,  was  far  from  conducing  to  clear  thinking, 
but  he  forced  himself  to  careful  thought.  He  was  less 
concerned  about  himself  than  he  was  about  Santry  and 
Dorothy;  particularly  Dorothy,  for  he  had  now  come 
to  appreciate  how  closely  she  had  come  into  his  life. 
Her  sympathy  had  been  very  sweet  to  him,  but  he 
told  himself  that  he  would  be  sorry  to  have  her  worry 
about  him  now,  when  there  was  so  little  chance  of 
their  seeing  each  other  again.  He  had  no  great  hope 
of  rescue.  He  expected  to  die,  either  by  violence  or 
by  the  slower  process  of  starvation,  but  in  either  case 
he  meant  to  meet  his  fate  like  a  man. 

Of  Helen  Rexhill,  he  thought  now  with  a  sense  of 
distaste.  It  was  altogether  unlikely  that  she  had  been 
privy  to  her  father's  depredations,  but  certainly  she 
countenanced  them  by  her  presence  in  Crawling  Wa- 
ter, and  she  had  shown  up  so  poorly  in  contrast  with 
Dorothy  Pumell  that  Wade  could  not  recall  his  former 
tenderness  for  his  early  sweetheart.  Even  if  great 


TRAPPED  203 

good  fortune  should  enable  him  to  escape  from  his 
prison,  the  interests  of  the  Rexhill  family  were  too  far 
removed  from  his  own  to  be  ever  again  bridged  by 
the  tie  of  love,  or  even  of  good-feeling.  He  could 
not  blame  the  daughter  for  the  misdeeds  of  her  parent, 
but  the  old  sentiment  could  never  be  revived.  It  was 
not  for  Helen  that  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
stirred  within  him,  nor  was  it  in  her  eyes  that  he 
would  look  for  the  light  of  joy  over  his  rescue,  if 
rescue  should  come. 

He  smoked  several  cigarettes,  until  the  waning  of 
his  supply  of  tobacco  warned  him  to  economize 
against  future  cravings.  Realizing  that  even  if  his 
friends  were  within  a  stone's  throw  of  him  they 
would  not  be  likely  to  find  him  unless  he  gave  some 
sign  of  his  presence,  he  got  to  his  feet  and,  making 
a  trumpet  out  of  his  hands,  shouted  loudly.  He  re- 
peated this  a  dozen  times,  or  more,  and  was  about  to 
sink  back  upon  the  sand  when  he  heard  footsteps  ap- 
proaching on  the  ground  overhead.  He  had  little  idea 
that  a  friend  was  responding  to  his  call,  but  being 
unarmed  he  could  do  no  more  than  crouch  against  the 
wall  of  the  cliff  while  he  scanned  the  opening  above 
him. 

Presently  there  appeared  in  the  opening  the  head  of 
a  Texan,  Goat  Neale,  whom  Wade  recognized  as  a 
member  of  Moran's  crew  and  a  man  of  some  note  as  a 
gunfighter. 

"How,"  drawled  the  Texan,  by  way  of  greeting. 
"Feelin'  pretty  good?"  When  the  ranchman  did  not 
reply,  his  inquisitor  seemed  amused.  "A  funny  thing 


204  HIDDEN  GOLD 

like  this  here  always  makes  me  laff,"  he  remarked.  "It 
sure  does  me  a  heap  of  good  to  see  you  all  corraled 
like  a  fly  in  a  bottle.  Mebbe  you'd  take  satisfaction 
in  knowin'  that  it  was  me  brung  you  down  out  yonder 
in  the  timber.  I  was  sure  mighty  glad  to  take  a 
wallop  at  you,  after  the  way  you  all  done  us  up  that 
night  at  the  ranch." 

"So  I'm  indebted  to  you  for  this,  eh  ?"  Wade  spoke 
casually,  as  though  the  matter  were  a  trifling  thing. 
He  was  wondering  if  he  could  bribe  Neale  to  set  him 
free.  Unfortunately  he  had  no  cash  about  him,  and 
he  concluded  that  the  Texan  would  not  think  prom- 
ises worth  while  under  the  circumstances. 

"Sure.  I  reckon  you'd  like  to  see  the  boss?  Well, 
he's  comin'  right  on  over.  Just  now  he's  eatin'  a  mess 
o*  bacon  and  beans  and  cawfee,  over  to  the  camp. 
My  Gawd,  that's  good  cawfee,  too.  Like  to  have 
some,  eh?"  But  Wade  refused  to  play  Tantalus  to 
the  lure  of  this  temptation  and  kept  silent.  "Here  he 
comes  now." 

"Is  he  all  right  ?"  Wade  heard  Moran  ask,  as  Neale 
backed  away  from  the  rim  of  the  hole. 

"Yep,"  the  Texan  answered. 

The  ranchman  instinctively  braced  himself  to  meet 
whatever  might  befall.  It  was  quite  possible,  he  knew, 
that  Moran  had  spared  him  in  the  timber-belt  to  tor- 
ture him  here;  he  did  not  know  whether  to  expect 
a  bullet  or  a  tongue  lashing,  but  he  was  resolved 
to  meet  his  fate  courageously  and,  as  far  as  was  hu- 
manly possible,  stoically.  To  his  surprise,  the  agent's 
tone  did  not  reveal  a  great  amount  of  venom. 


TRAPPED  205 

"Hello,  Wade!"  he  greeted,  as  he  looked  down  on 
his  prisoner.  "Find  your  quarters  pretty  comfort- 
?ble,  eh?  It's  been  a  bit  of  a  shock  to  you,  no  doubt, 
but  then  shocks  seem  to  be  in  order  in  Crawling 
Water  Valley  just  now." 

"Moran,  I've  lived  in  this  country  a  good  many 
years."  Wade  spoke  with  a  suavity  which  would  have 
indicated  deadly  peril  to  the  other  had  the  two  been 
on  anything  like  equal  terms.  "I've  seen  a  good  many 
blackguards  come  and  go  in  that  time,  but  the  worst 
of  them  was  redeemed  by  more  of  the  spark  of  man- 
hood than  there  seems  to  be  in  you." 

"Is  that  so?"  Moran's  face  darkened  in  swift  an- 
ger, but  he  restrained  himself.  "Well,  we'll  pass  up 
the  pleasantries  until  after  our  business  is  done.  You 
and  I've  got  a  few  old  scores  to  settle  and  you  won't 
find  me  backward  when  the  times  comes,  my  boy.  It 
isn't  time  yet,  although  maybe  the  time  isn't  so  very 
far  away.  Now,  see  here."  He  leaned  over  the  edge 
of  the  cliff  to  display  a  folded  paper  and  a  fountain- 
pen.  "I  have  here  a  quit-claim  deed  to  your  ranch, 
fully  made  out  and  legally  witnessed,  needing  only  your 
signature  to  make  it  valid.  Will  you  sign  it?" 

Wade  started  in  spite  of  himself.  This  idea  was 
so  preposterous  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  as 
the  real  motive  for  his  capture.  He  could  scarcely 
believe  that  so  good  a  lawyer  as  Senator  Rexhill  could 
be  blind  to  the  fact  that  such  a  paper,  secured  under 
duress,  would  have  no  validity  under  the  law.  He 
looked  up  at  the  agent  in  amazement. 

"I  know  what  you're  thinking,  of  course,"  Moran 


206  HIDDEN  GOLD 

went  on,  with  an  evil  smile.  "We're  no  fools.  I've 
got  here,  besides  the  deed,  a  check  made  out  to  you 
for  ten  thousand  dollars."  He  held  it  up.  "You'll  re- 
member that  we  made  you  that  offer  once  before.  You 
turned  it  down  then,  but  maybe  you'll  change  your 
mind  now.  After  you  indorse  the  check  I'll  deposit 
it  to  your  credit  in  the  local  bank." 

The  cattleman's  face  fell  as  he  caught  the  drift  of 
this  complication.  That  ten  thousand  dollars  repre- 
sented only  a  small  part  of  the  value  of  his  property 
was  true,  but  many  another  man  had  sold  property 
for  less  than  it  was  worth.  If  a  perfectly  good  check 
for  ten  thousand  dollars,  bearing  his  indorsement,  were 
deposited  to  the  credit  of  his  banking  account,  the 
fact  would  go  far  to  offset  any  charge  of  duress  that 
he  might  later  bring.  To  suppose  that  he  had  under- 
valued his  holdings  would  be  no  more  unreasonable 
than  to  suppose  that  a  man  of  Senator  Rexhill's  promi- 
nence would  stoop  to  physical  coercion  of  an  adver- 
sary. The  question  would  merely  be  one  of  per- 
sonal probity,  with  the  presumption  on  the  Senator's 
side. 

"Once  we  get  a  title  to  the  land,  a  handle  to  fight 
with,  we  sha'n't  care  what  you  try  to  do,"  Moran  ex- 
plained further.  "We  can  afford  to  laugh  at  you." 
That  seemed  to  Wade  to  be  true.  "If  you  accept  my 
offer  now,  I  will  set  you  free  as  soon  as  this  check 
is  in  the  bank,  and  the  settlement  of  our  personal  scores 
can  go  over  to  another  time.  I  assure  you  that  I  am 
just  as  anxious  to  get  at  you  as  you  are  to  get  at  me, 
but  I've  always  made  it  a  rule  never  to  mix  pleasure 


TRAPPED  207 

and  business.  You'll  have  a  fair  start  to  get  away. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  you  refuse,  you'll  be  left  here 
without  food.  Once  each  day  I'll  visit  you;  at  other 
times  you'll  be  left  alone,  except  when  Goat  may  care 
to  entertain  himself  by  baiting  you.  You'll  be  per- 
fectly safe  here,  guard  or  no  guard,  believe  me." 

Moran  chuckled  ominously,  his  thoughts  divided  be- 
tween professional  pride,  excited  by  the  thought  of  suc- 
cessfully completing  the  work  he  had  come  to  Crawling 
Water  to  do,  and  exultation  at  the  prospect  that  his 
sufferings  while  gagged  the  previous  night  might  be 
atoned  for  a  thousand  times  if  Wade  should  refuse  to 
sign  the  quit-claim. 

"In  plain  speech,"  said  Wade,  pale  but  calm,  "you 
propose  to  starve  me  to  death." 

"Exactly,"  was  the  cheerful  assurance.  "If  I  were 
you,  I'd  think  a  bit  before  answering." 

Because  the  cattleman  was  in  the  fullest  flush  of 
physical  vigor,  the  lust  of  life  was  strong  in  him. 
Never  doubting  that  Moran  meant  what  he  said,  Wade 
was  on  the  point  of  compliance,  thinking  to  assume 
the  burden  later  on,  of  a  struggle  with  Rexhill  to 
regain  his  ranch.  His  manhood  rebelled  at  the  idea 
of  coercion,  but,  dead,  he  could  certainly  not  defend 
himself;  it  seemed  to  him  better  that  he  should  live 
to  carry  on  the  fight.  He  would  most  likely  have 
yielded  but  for  the  taunt  of  cowardice  which  had  al- 
ready been  noised  about  Crawling  Water.  True,  the 
charge  had  sprung  from  those  who  liked  him  least, 
but  it  had  stung  him.  He  was  no  coward,  and  he 
would  not  feed  such  a  report  now  by  yielding  to 


208  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Moran.  Whatever  the  outcome  of  a  later  fight  might 
be,  the  fact  that  he  had  knuckled  under  to  the  agent 
could  never  be  lived  down.  Such  success  as  he  had 
won  had  been  achieved  by  playing  a  man's  part  in 
man's  world. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Moran,"  he  said,  finally. 
"Give  me  a  hand  out  of  this  hole,  or  come  down  here 
yourself.  Throw  aside  your  gun,  but  keep  your  knife. 
I'll  allow  you  that  advantage.  Meet  me  face  to  face ! 
Damn  you,  be  a  man!  Anything  that  you  can  gain 
by  my  signature,  you  can  gain  by  my  death.  Get  the 
best  of  me,  if  you  can,  in  a  man's  fight.  Pah !"  He 
spat  contemptuously.  "You're  a  coward,  Moran,  a 
white-livered  coward!  You  don't  dare  fight  with  me 
on  anything  like  equal  terms.  I'll  get  out  of  here 
somehow,  and  when  I  do — by  Heaven,  I'll  corner  you, 
and  I'll  make  you  fight." 

"Get  out?  How?"  Moran  laughed  the  idea  to 
scorn.  "Your  friends  can  look  for  you  from  now 
till  snowfall.  They'll  never  find  even  your  bones.  Rot 
there,  if  you  choose.  Why  should  I  take  a  chance  on 
you  when  I've  got  you  where  I  want  you?  You 
ought  to  die.  You  know  too  much." 

"Yes,"  Wade  retorted  grimly.  "I  know  too  much. 
I  know  enough  to  hang  you,  you  murderer.  Who 
killed  Oscar  Jensen?  Answer  that!  You  did  it,  or 
you  had  it  done,  and  then  you  tried  to  put  it  on 
Santry  and  me,  and  I'm  not  the  only  one  who  knows  it. 
This  country's  too  small  to  hold  you,  Moran.  Your 
fate  is  settled  already,  whatever  may  happen  to  me." 

"Still,  I  seem  to  be  holding  four  aces  now,"  Moran 


TRAPPED  209 

grinned  back  at  him.  "And  the  cards  are  stacked." 
Left  alone,  Wade  rolled  himself  a  cigarette  from 
his  scant  hoard  of  tobacco.  Already  he  was  hungry, 
for  deep  shadows  in  his  prison  marked  the  approach 
of  night,  and  he  had  the  appetite  of  a  healthy  man. 
The  knowledge  that  he  was  to  be  denied  food  made 
him  feel  the  hungrier,  until  he  resolutely  put  the 
thought  of  eating  out  of  his  mind.  The  water,  tric- 
kling down  the  face  of  the  rock,  was  a  God-send, 
though,  and  he  drank  frequently  from  the  little 
stream. 

By  habit  a  heavy  smoker,  he  viewed  with  dismay  the 
inroads  which  he  had  already  made  on  his  store  of 
tobacco  for  that  deprivation  he  felt  would  be  the  most 
real  of  any  that  he  could  suffer.  He  tried  to  take 
shorter  puffs  upon  his  cigarette,  and  between  them 
shielded  the  fire  with  his  hand,  so  that  the  air-draughts 
in  the  fissure  might  not  cheat  him  of  any  of  the  smoke. 
He  figured  that  he  had  scarcely  enough  tobacco  left 
for  a  dozen  cigarettes,  which  was  less  than  his  usual 
daily  allowance. 

On  searching  his  pockets,  in  the  hope  of  finding  a 
second  sack  of  Durham,  he  chanced  upon  his  clasp- 
knife,  and  viewed  the  find  with  joy.  The  thought  of 
using  it  as  a  weapon  did  not  impress  him,  for  his  cap- 
tors would  keep  out  of  reach  of  such  a  toy,  but  he 
concluded  that  he  might  possibly  use  it  to  carve  some 
sort  of  foothold  in  the  rock.  The  idea  of  cutting 
the  granite  was  out  of  the  question,  but  there  might 
be  strata  of  softer  stone  which  he  could  dig  into.  It 
was  a  forlorn  hope,  in  a  forlorn  cause,  and  it  proved 


210  HIDDEN  GOLD 

futile.  At  his  first  effort  the  knife's  single  blade 
snapped  off  short,  and  he  threw  the  useless  handle 
away. 

Darkness  fell  some  time  before  the  cool  night  air 
penetrated  the  fissure;  when  it  did  so  the  cold  seemed 
likely  to  be  added  to  his  other  physical  discomforts. 
In  the  higher  altitudes  the  nights  were  distinctly  chilly 
even  in  mid-summer,  and  he  had  on  only  a  light  outing 
shirt,  above  his  waist.  As  the  hour  grew  late,  the 
cold  increased  in  severity  until  Wade  was  forced  to 
walk  up  and  down  his  narrow  prison  in  the  effort  to 
keep  warm.  He  had  just  turned  to  retrace  his  steps, 
on  one  such  occasion,  when  his  ears  caught  the  soft 
pat-pat  of  a  footfall  on  the  ground  above.  He  in- 
stantly became  motionless  and  tensely  alert,  wonder- 
ing which  of  his  enemies  was  so  stealthily  returning, 
and  for  what  reason. 

He  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  Moran  had  altered 
his  purpose  and  come  back  to  shoot  him  while  he 
slept.  Brave  though  he  was,  the  idea  of  being  shot 
down  in  such  a  manner  made  his  flesh  crawl.  Stoop- 
ing, he  picked  up  a  fragment  of  rock;  although  he 
realized  the  futility  of  the  weapon,  it  was  all  he  had. 
Certainly,  whoever  approached  was  moving  with  the 
utmost  stealth,  which  argued  an  attack  of  some  kind. 
Drawing  back  the  hand  that  held  the  stone,  the  cat- 
tleman shrank  into  a  corner  of  the  fissure  and  waited. 
Against  the  starlit  sky,  he  had  an  excellent  view  of 
the  opening  above  him,  and  possibly  by  a  lucky  throw 
the  stone  would  serve  against  one  assailant,  at  least. 

The  pat-pat-pat  drew  nearer  and  stopped,  at  last, 


TRAPPED  211 

on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  hole.  A  low,  long-drawn 
sniff  showed  that  this  was  no  human  enemy.  If  the 
sound  had  been  louder,  Wade  would  have  guessed 
that  it  was  made  by  a  bear;  but  as  it  was  he  guessed 
the  prowler  to  be  a  mountain-lion.  He  had  little  fear 
of  such  a  beast;  most  of  them  were  notorious  cowards 
unless  cornered,  and  when  presently  a  pair  of  glowing 
eyes  peered  down  into  the  fissure,  he  hurled  the  stone 
at  them  with  all  his  might.  His  aim  was  evidently 
true,  for  with  a  snarl  of  pain  the  animal  drew 
back. 

But  just  as  amongst  the  most  pacific  human  races' 
there  are  some  brave  spirits,  so  amongst  the  Ameri- 
can lions  there  are  a  few  which  possess  all  the  courage 
of  their  jungle  brothers.  Actuated  by  overweening 
curiosity,  or  else  by  a  thirst  for  blood,  the  big  cat  re- 
turned again  and  again  to  the  edge  of  the  hole.  After 
his  first  throw  Wade  was  unable  to  hit  the  beast  with 
a  stone,  although  his  efforts  had  the  temporary  effect 
of  frightening  it.  Gradually,  however,  it  grew  bolder, 
and  was  restrained  from  springing  upon  him  only,  as 
it  seemed,  by  some  sixth  sense  which  warned  it  of  the 
impossibility  of  getting  out  of  the  fissure  after  once 
getting  in.  Baffled  and  furious,  the  lion  sniffed  and 
prowled  about  the  rim  of  the  hole  until  the  ranch- 
man began  to  think  it  would  surely  leap  upon  him. 

He  picked  up  his  broken  pocket-knife  and  waited 
for  this  to  happen.  The  shattered  blade  would  be  of 
little  use,  but  it  might  prove  better  than  his  bare  hands 
if  he  had  to  defend  himself  against  the  brute's  teeth 
and  claws. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A    WAR   OF    WITS 

"KIDNAPED?    Gordon  Wade?" 

At  Dorothy's  announcement,  Mrs.  Purnell  sank, 
with  a  gasp,  into  her  rocking-chair,  astonished  beyond 
expression.  She  listened,  with  anxiety  scarce  less 
than  her  daughter's,  to  the  girl's  account  of  the  event 
as  she  had  it  from  Trowbridge.  Her  mouth  opened 
and  shut  aimlessly  as  she  picked  at  her  gingham 
apron.  If  Wade  had  been  her  own  son,  she  could 
hardly  have  loved  him  more.  He  had  been  as  tender 
to  her  as  a  son,  and  the  news  of  his  disappearance  and 
probable  injury  was  a  frightful  shock. 

Weakly  she  attempted  to  relieve  her  own  anxiety 
by  disputing  the  fact  of  his  danger. 

"Oh,  I  guess  nothing's  happened  to  him — nothing 
like  that,  anyway.  He  may  have  had  a  fall  from 
his  horse.  Or  maybe  it  broke  away  from  him  and 
ran  off." 

"Rill  Santry  found  their  trail,"  Dorothy  said,  with 
a  gesture  so  tragic  that  it  wrung  her  mother's  heart 
strings.  "He  followed  it  as  far  as  he  could,  then 
lost  it."  In  any  other  case  she  would  have  tried  to 
keep  the  bad  news  from  her  mother,  because  of  her 
nerves,  but  just  now  the  girl  was  too  distraught  to 
think  of  any  one  but  the  man  she  loved.  "Oh,  if  I 

212 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  213 

could  only  do  something  myself,"  she  burst  out.  "It's 
staying  here,  helpless,  that  is  killing  me.  I  wish  I'd 
gone  with  Lem  up  into  the  mountains.  I  would  have 
if  he  hadn't  said  I  might  better  stay  in  town.  But 
how  can  I  help?  There's  nothing  to  do  here." 

"The  idea!"  Mrs.  Purnell  exclaimed.  "They'll  be 
out  all  night.  How  could  you  have  gone  with  them? 
I  don't  believe  Gordon  has  been  kidnaped  at  all.  It's 
a  false  alarm,  I  tell  you.  Who  could  have  done  such 
a  thing?" 

"Who?"  The  question  broke  Dorothy's  patience. 
"Who's  done  everything  that's  abominable  and  con- 
temptible lately  here  in  Crawling  Water?  That 
Moran  did  it,  of  course,  with  Senator  Rexhill  behind 
him.  Oh!" 

"Nonsense!"  said  her  mother,  indignantly. 

"Lem  Trowbridge  thinks  so.  Nearly  everybody 
does." 

"Then  he  hasn't  as  good  sense  as  I  thought  he  had." 
Mrs.  Purnell  arose  and  moved  toward  the  kitchen. 
"You  come  on  and  help  me  make  some  waffles  for 
supper.  Perhaps  that  will  take  such  foolishness  out 
of  your  head.  The  idea  of  a  Senator  of  the  United 
States  going  about  kidnaping  people." 

Dorothy  obeyed  her  mother's  wish,  but  not  very 
ably.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  hot;  ordi- 
narily she  was  a  splendid  housekeeper  and  a  dutiful 
daughter,  but  there  are  limits  to  human  endurance. 
She  mixed  the  barter  so  clumsily  and  with  such 
prodigal  waste  that  her  mother  had  to  stop  her,  and 
she  was  about  to  put  salt  into  the  sugar  bowl  when 


2i4  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Mrs.  Purnell  snatched  it  out  of  her  hands.  "Go  into 
the  dining-room  and  sit  down,  Dorothy,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "You're  beside  yourself."  It  is  frequently 
the  way  with  people,  who  are  getting  on  in  years  and 
are  sick,  to  charge  their  own  shortcomings  on  any  one 
who  may  be  near.  Mrs.  Purnell  was  greatly  worried. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  she  demanded,  when 
Dorothy  left  her  supper  untasted  on  her  plate. 

"I  was  thinking." 

"Well,  can't  you  tell  a  body  what  you're  thinking 
about?  What  are  you  sitting  there  that  way  for?" 

"I  was  wondering,"  said  Dorothy  in  despair,  "if 
Helen  Rexhill  knows  where  Gordon  is." 

Mrs.  Purnell  snorted  in  disdain. 

"Land's  sakes,  child,  what  put  that  into  your  head  ? 
Drink  your  tea.  It'll  do  you  good." 

"Why  shouldn't  she  know,  if  her  father  does?" 
The  girl  pushed  her  tea-cup  farther  away  from  her. 
"She  wouldn't  have  come  all  the  way  out  here  with 
him — he  wouldn't  have  brought  her  with  him — if  they 
weren't  working  together.  She  must  know.  But  I 
don't  see  why  .  .  ." 

"Dorothy  Purnell,  I  declare  to  goodness,  I  believe 
you're  going  crazy."  Mrs.  Purnell  dropped  her  fork. 
"All  this  about  Gordon  is  bad  enough  without  my  be- 
ing worried  so.  .  .  ." 

"I'd  even  give  him  up  to  her,  if  she'd  tell  me  that." 
Dorothy's  voice  was  unsteady,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
talking  to  herself  rather  than  to  her  mother.  "I  know 
she  thinks  I've  come  between  her  and  Gordon,  but 
I  haven't  meant  to.  He's  just  seemed  to  like  me  bet- 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  215 

ter;  that's  all.  But  I'd  do  anything  to  save  him  from 
Moran." 

"I  should  say  that  you  might  better  wait  until  he 
asks  you,  before  you  talk  of  giving  him  up  to  some- 
body." Mrs.  Purnell  spoke  with  the  primness  that 
was  to  be  expected,  but  her  daughter  made  no  reply. 
She  had  never  mentioned  the  night  in  Moran's  office, 
and  her  mother  knew  nothing  of  Wade's  kiss.  But 
to  the  girl  it  had  meant  more  than  any  declaration 
in  words.  She  had  kept  her  lips  inviolate  until  that 
moment,  and  when  his  kiss  had  fallen  upon  them  it 
had  fallen  upon  virgin  soil,  from  out  of  which  had 
bloomed  a  white  flower  of  passion.  Before  then  she 
had  looked  upon  Wade  as  a  warm  friend,  but  since 
that  night  he  had  appeared  to  her  in  another  guise; 
that  of  a  lover,  who  has  come  into  his  own.  She 
had  met  him  then,  a  girl,  and  had  left  him  a  woman, 
and  she  felt  that  what  he  had  established  as  a  fact  in 
the  one  rare  moment  of  his  kiss,  belonged  to  him  and 
her.  It  seemed  so  wholly  theirs  that  she  had  not  been 
able  to  bring  herself  to  discuss  it  with  her  mother. 
She  had  won  it  fairly,  and  she  treasured  it.  The 
thought  of  giving  him  up  to  Helen  Rexhill,  of  prom- 
ising her  never  to  see  Wade  again,  was  overwhelming, 
and  was  to  be  considered  only  as  a  last  resource,  but 
there  was  no  suffering  that  she  would  not  undertake 
for  his  sake. 

Mrs.  Purnell  was  as  keenly  alive  as  ever  to  the 
hope  that  the  young  ranch  owner  might  some  day 
incline  toward  her  little  girl,  but  she  was  sensitive 
also  to  the  impression  which  the  Rexhills  had  made 


216  HIDDEN  GOLD 

upon  her.  Her  life  with  Mr.  Purnell  had  not  brought 
her  many  luxuries,  and  perhaps  she  over-valued  their 
importance.  She  thought  Miss  Rexhill  a  most  im- 
posing young  woman  and  she  believed  in  the  impec- 
cability of  the  well-to-do.  Her  heart  was  still  warmed 
by  the  memory  of  the  courtesy  with  which  she  had 
been  treated  by  the  Senator's  daughter,  and  was  not 
without  the  gratification  of  feeling  that  it  had  been 
a  tribute  to  her  own  worth.  She  had  scolded  Dorothy 
afterward  for  her  frank  speech  to  Miss  Rexhill  at 
the  hotel,  and  she  felt  that  further  slurs  on  her  were 
uncalled  for. 

"I'm  sure  that  Miss  Rexhill  treated  us  as  a  lady 
should,"  she  said  tartly.  "She  acted  more  like  one 
than  you  did,  if  I  do  have  to  say  it.  She  was  as  kind 
and  sweet  as  could  be.  She's  got  a  tender  heart.  I 
could  see  that  when  she  up  and  gave  me  that  blot- 
ter, just  because  I  remarked  that  it  reminded  me  of 
your  childhood." 

"Oh,  that  old  blotter!"  Dorothy  exclaimed  petu- 
lantly. "What  did  it  amount  to  ?  You  talk  as  though 
it  were  something  worth  having."  She  was  so  seldom 
in  a  pet  that  her  mother  now  strove  to  make  allow- 
ance for  her. 

"I'm  not  saying  that  it's  of  any  value,  Dorothy, 
except  to  me ;  but  it  was  kind  of  her  to  seem  to  under- 
stand why  I  wanted  it." 

"It  wasn't  kind  of  her.  She  just  did  it  to  get 
rid  of  us,  because  we  bored  her.  Oh,  mother,  you're 
daffy  about  the  Rexhills,  why  not  admit  it  and  be 
done  with  it?  You  think  they're  perfect,  but  I  tell 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  217 

you  they're  not — they're  not!  They've  been  behind 
all  our  troubles  here.  They've  .  .  ."  Her  voice  broke 
under  the  stress  of  her  emotion  and  she  rose  to  her 
feet. 

"Dorothy,  if  you  have  no  self-respect,  at  least  have 
some  ..." 

"I  won't  have  that  blotter  in  the  house."  The  strain 
was  proving  more  than  the  girl's  nerves  could  stand. 
"I  won't  hear  about  it  any  longer.  I'm  going  to — 
to  tear  it  up!" 

"Dorothy!" 

For  all  the  good  that  Mrs.  Purnell's  tone  of  author- 
ity did,  it  might  as  well  have  fallen  upon  the  wind. 
She  hastily  followed  her  daughter,  who  had  rushed 
from  the  room,  and  overtook  her  just  in  time  to  pre- 
vent her  from  destroying  the  little  picture.  Her  own 
strength  could  not  have  sufficed  to  deter  the  girl  in 
her  purpose,  if  the  latter  had  not  realized  in  her  heart 
the  shameful  way  in  which  she  was  treating  her 
mother. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  child?  Look  in 
that  glass  at  your  face !  No  wonder  you  don't  think 
you  look  like  the  sweet  child  in  the  picture.  You  don't 
look  like  her  now,  nor  act  like  her.  That  was  why 
I  wanted  the  blotter,  to  remind  me  of  the  way  you  used 
to  look." 

"I'm  sorry,  mother." 

Blushing  deeply  as  she  recovered  her  self-control, 
Dorothy  stole  a  glance  at  her  reflection  in  the  looking- 
glass  of  the  bureau,  before  which  she  stood,  and  shyly 
contrasted  her  angry  expression  of  countenance  with 


2i8  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  sweet  one  of  the  child  on  the  blotter.  Suddenly 
she  started,  and  leaned  toward  the  mirror,  staring 
at  something  she  saw  there.  The  blood  seemed  driven 
from  the  surface  of  her  skin;  her  lips  were  parted; 
her  eyes  dilated.  She  drew  a  swift  breath  of  amazed 
exultation,  and  turned  to  her  mother,  who  had  viewed 
the  sudden  transformation  with  surprise. 

"I'll  be  back  soon,  mother.  I  can't  tell  you  what 
it  is."  Dorothy's  voice  rang  with  the  suggestion  of 
victory.  "But  I've  discovered  something,  wonderful !" 

Before  Mrs.  Purnell  could  adjust  herself  to  this  new 
mood,  the  girl  was  down  the  stairs  and  running  to- 
ward the  little  barn.  Slipping  the  bridle  on  her  pony, 
she  swung  to  its  back  without  thought  of  a  saddle, 
and  turned  the  willing  creature  into  the  street.  As 
she  passed  the  house,  she  waved  her  hand  to  her 
mother,  at  the  window,  and  vanished  like  a  specter  into 
the  night. 

"Oh,  hurry,  Gypsy,  hurry!"  she  breathed  into  the 
pony's  twitching  ear. 

Her  way  was  not  far,  for  she  was  going  first  to 
the  hotel,  but  that  other  way,  into  the  mountains  after 
Gordon,  would  be  a  long  journey,  and  no  time  could 
be  wasted  now.  She  was  going  to  see  Helen  Rexhill, 
not  as  a  suppliant  bearing  the  olive  branch,  but  as  a 
champion  to  wage  battle  in  behalf  of  the  missing  ranch- 
man. She  no  longer  thought  of  giving  him  up,  and 
the  knowledge  that  she  might  now  keep  the  love  which 
she  had  won  for  her  very  own  made  her  reel  on  the 
pony's  back  from  pure  joy.  She  was  his  as  he  was 
hers,  but  the  Rexhills  were  his  enemies :  she  knew  that 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  219 

positively  now,  and  she  meant  to  defeat  them  at  their 
own  game.  If  they  would  tell  her  where  Gordon  was, 
they  might  go  free  for  all  she  cared;  if  they  would 
not,  she  would  give  them  over  to  the  vengeance  of 
Crawling  Water,  and  she  would  not  worry  about  what 
might  happen  to  them.  Meanwhile  she  thanked  her 
lucky  stars  that  Trowbridge  had  promised  to  keep  a 
man  at  the  big  pine. 

She  tied  her  pony  at  the  hitching-rack  in  front  of 
the  hotel  and  entered  the  office.  Like  most  of  the 
men  in  the  town,  the  proprietor  was  her  ardent  ad- 
mirer, but  he  had  never  seen  her  before  in  such  radi- 
ant mood.  He  took  his  cigar  from  between  his  lips, 
and  doffed  his  Stetson  hat,  which  he  wore  indoors  and 
out,  with  elaborate  grace. 

"Yes,  Miss,  Miss  Rexhill's  in,  up  in  the  parlor, 
I  think.  Would  you  like  me  to  step  up  and  let  her 
know  you're  here?" 

"No,  thank  you,  I'll  go  right  up  myself,"  said  Dor- 
othy; her  smile  doubly  charming  because  of  its  sug- 
gestion of  triumph. 

Miss  Rexhill,  entirely  unaware  of  what  was  brew- 
ing for  her,  was  embroidering  by  the  flickering  light 
of  one  of  the  big  oil  lamps,  with  her  back  to  the  door- 
way, and  so  did  not  immediately  note  Dorothy's  pres- 
ence in  the  room.  Her  face  flushed  with  annoyance 
and  she  arose,  when  she  recognized  her  visitor. 

"You  will  please  pardon  me,  but  I  do  not  care  to 
receive  you,"  she  said  primly. 

This  beginning,  natural  enough  from  Helen's  stand- 
point, after  what  her  father  had  told  her  in  Moran's 


220  HIDDEN  GOLD 

office,  convinced  Dorothy  that  she  had  read  the  writ- 
ing on  the  blotter  correctly.  She  held  her  ground, 
aggressively,  between  Miss  Rexhill  and  the  door. 

"You  must  hear  what  I  have  to  say  to  you,"  she 
declared  quietly.  "I  have  not  come  here  to  make  a 
social  call." 

"Isn't  it  enough  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  do  not 
wish  to  talk  to  you?"  Helen  lifted  her  brows  and 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Surely,  it  should  be 
enough.  Will  you  please  stand  aside  so  that  I  may 
go  to  my  room?" 

"No,  I  won't !  You  can't  go  until  you've  heard  what 
I've  got  to  say."  Stung  by  the  other  woman's  con- 
temptuous tone,  and  realizing  that  the  situation  put  her 
at  a  social  disadvantage,  Dorothy  forced  an  aggressive 
tone  into  her  voice,  ugly  to  the  ear. 

"Very  well!"  Miss  Rexhill  shrugged  her  shoulders 
disdainfully,  and  resumed  her  seat.  "We  must  not 
engage  in  a  vulgar  row.  Since  I  must  listen  to  you, 
I  must,  but  at  least  I  need  not  talk  to  you,  and  I 
won't." 

"You  know  that  Gordon  Wade  has  disappeared?" 
Helen  made  no  response  to  this,  and  Dorothy  bit  her 
lip  in  anger.  "I  know  that  you  know  it,"  she  con- 
tinued. "I  know  that  you  know  where  he  is.  Per- 
haps, however,  you  don't  know  that  his  life  is  in  dan- 
ger. If  you  will  tell  me  where  he  is,  I  can  save  him. 
Will  you  tell  me?"  The  low  throaty  note  of  suffer- 
ing in  her  voice  brought  a  stiletto-like  flash  into  the 
eyes  of  the  other  woman,  but  no  response. 

"Miss  Rexhill,"   Dorothy  went  on,   after  a  short 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  221 

pause.  "You  and  Mr.  Wade  were  friends  once,  if 
you  are  not  now.  Perhaps  you  don't  realize  just  how 
serious  the  situation  is  here  in  this  town,  where  nearly 
everybody  likes  him,  and  what  would  happen  to  you 
and  your  father,  if  I  told  what  I  know  about  you.  I 
don't  believe  he  would  want  it  to  happen,  even  after 
the  way  you've  treated  him.  If  you  will  only  tell 
me  .  .  ." 

Helen  turned  abruptly  in  her  chair,  her  face  white 
with  anger. 

"I  said  that  I  would  not  talk  to  you,"  she  burst 
out,  "but  your  impertinence  is  so — so  insufferable — 
so  absolutely  insufferable,  that  I  must  speak.  You  say 
you  will  tell  people  what  you  know  about  me.  What 
do  you  know  about  me  ?"  She  arose  to  face  Dorothy, 
with  blazing  eyes. 

"I  am  sure  that  you  know  where  Gordon  is." 

"You  are  sure  of  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  do  not 
know  where  Mr.  Wade  is,  and  why  should  I  tell  you 
if  I  did?  Suppose  I  were  to  tell  what  I  know  about 
you?  I  don't  believe  the  whole  of  it  is  known  in 
Crawling  Water  yet.  You — you  must  be  insane." 

"About  me?"  Dorothy's  surprise  was  genuine. 
"There  is  nothing  you  could  tell  any  one  about  me." 

Miss  Rexhill  laughed  scornfully,  a  low,  withering 
laugh  that  brought  a  flush  to  the  girl's  cheeks,  even 
though  her  conscience  told  her  that  she  had  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of.  Dorothy  stared  at  the  other  woman 
with  wide-open,  puzzled  eyes,  diverted  for  the  moment 
from  her  own  purpose. 

"At  least,  you  need  not  expect  me  to  help  you," 


222  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Helen  said  acidulously.  "I  have  my  own  feelings.  I 
respected  Mr.  Wade  at  one  time  and  valued  his  friend- 
ship. You  have  taken  from  me  my  respect  for  him, 
and  you  have  taken  from  him  his  self-respect.  Quite 
likely  you  had  no  respect  for  yourself,  and  so  you 
had  nothing  to  lose.  But  if  you'll  stop  to  consider, 
you  may  see  how  impertinent  you  are  to  appeal  to  me 
so  brazenly." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Dorothy's  eyes, 
too,  were  blazing  now,  but  more  in  championship  of 
Wade  than  of  herself.  She  still  did  not  fully  under- 
stand the  drift  of  what  Miss  Rexhill  had  said. 

"Really,  you  are  almost  amusing."  Helen  looked 
at  her  through  half-closed  lids.  "You  are  quite  freak- 
ish. I  suppose  you  must  be  a  moral  degenerate,  or 
something  of  the  sort."  She  waited  for  the  insult 
to  sink  in,  but  Dorothy  was  fairly  dazed  and  bewil- 
dered. "Do  you  want  me  to  call  things  by  their  true 
names?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Dorothy,  "I  do.  Tell  me  what 
you  are  talking  about." 

"I  don't  mind,  I'm  sure.  Plain  speaking  has  never 
bothered  me.  It's  the  deed  that's  horrible,  not  the 
name.  You  were  found  in  Mr.  Moran's  office  with 
Mr.  Wade,  late  at  night,  misbehaving  yourself.  Do 
you  dare  to  come  now  to  me  and  .  .  ." 

"That  is  not  true!"  The  denial  came  from  Dorothy 
with  an  intensity  that  would  have  carried  conviction 
to  any  person  less  infuriated  than  the  woman  who 
faced  her.  "Oh!"  Dorothy  raised  her  hands  to  her 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  223 

throat   as  though   struggling   for   breath.    "I   never 
dreamed  you  meant  that.     It's  a  deliberate  lie !" 

In  the  grip  of  their  emotions,  neither  of  the  girls 
had  noticed  the  entrance  of  Senator  Rexhill.  Helen 
saw  him  first  and  dramatically  pointed  to  him. 

"There  is  my  father.    Ask  him!" 
.  "I  do  not  need  to  ask  him  what  I've  done."    Doro- 
thy felt  as  though  she  would  suffocate.    "No  one  would 
believe  that  story  of  Gordon,  whatever  they  might 
think  of  me." 

"Ask  me?  Ask  me  what?"  the  Senator  nervously 
demanded.  He  had  in  his  pocket  a  telegram  just 
received  from  Washington,  stating  that  the  cavalry 
would  be  sent  from  Fort  Mackenzie  only  at  the  request 
of  the  Governor  of  Wyoming.  The  Governor  was  not 
at  all  likely  to  make  such  a  request,  and  Rexhill  was 
more  worried  than  he  had  been  before,  in  years.  He 
could  only  hope  that  Tug  Bailey  would  escape  capture. 
"Who  is  this?"  He  put  on  his  glasses,  and  delib- 
erately looked  Dorothy  over.  "Oh,  it's  the  young 
woman  whom  Race  found  in  his  office." 

"She  has  come  here  to  plead  for  Gordon  Wade — to 
demand  that  I  tell  her  where  he  is  now.  I  don't  know, 
of  course;  none  of  us  know;  but  I  wouldn't  tell  her 
if  I  did."  Helen  spoke  triumphantly. 

"You  had  better  leave  us,"  Rexhill  said  brusquely 
to  Dorothy.  "You  are  not  wanted  here.  Go  home!" 

While  they  were  talking,  Dorothy  had  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  the  contempt  which  a  good 
woman  naturally  feels  when  she  is  impugned.  Now 
she  crossed  the  room  and  confronted  the  Senator. 


224  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Did  you  tell  your  daughter  that  I  was  caught  in 
your  office  with  Gordon  Wade?"  she  demanded;  and 
before  her  steady  gaze  Rexhill  winced. 

"You  don't  deny  it,  do  you?"  he  blustered. 

"I  don't  deny  being  there  with  him,  and  I  won't 
deny  anything  else  to  such  a  man  as  you.  I'm  too 
proud  to.  For  your  own  sake,  however,  you  would 
have  done  better  not  to  have  tried  to  blacken  me." 
She  turned  swiftly  to  his  daughter.  "Perhaps  you 
don't  know  all  that  I  supposed  you  did.  We  were  in 
Moran's  office — Mr.  Wade  and  myself — because  we 
felt  sure  that  your  father  had  some  criminal  purpose 
here  in  Crawling  Water.  We  were  right.  We  found 
papers  showing  the  location  of  gold  on  Mr.  Wade's 
ranch,  which  showed  your  father's  reasons  for  trying 
to  seize  the  land." 

Helen  laughed  scornfully. 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that?" 

"No,  of  course  not,"  her  father  growled.  "Come 
on  up  to  our  rooms.  Let  her  preach  here  until  she 
is  put  out."  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  door  when 
the  vibrant  command  in  Dorothy's  voice  halted  him. 

"Wait.  You'd  better  listen  to  me,  for  it's  the  last 
chance  you'll  have.  I  have  you  absolutely  at  my  mercy. 
I've  caught  you!  You  are  trapped!"  There  was  no 
doubting  that  the  girl  believed  what  she  said,  and  the 
Senator's  affairs  were  in  a  sufficiently  precarious  state 
to  bid  him  pause. 

"Nonsense !"  He  made  his  own  tone  as  unconcerned 
as  he  could,  but  there  was  a  look  of  haunting  dread 
in  his  eyes. 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  225 

"Senator  Rexhill," — Dorothy's  voice  was  low,  but 
there  was  a  quality  in  it  which  thrilled  her  hearers, — 
"when  my  mother  and  I  visited  your  daughter  a  few 
days  ago,  she  gave  my  mother  a  blotter.  There  was 
a  picture  on  it  that  reminded  my  mother  of  me  as  a 
child;  that  was  why  she  wanted  it.  It  has  been  on 
my  mother's  bureau  ever  since.  I  never  noticed  any- 
thing curious  about  it  until  this  evening."  She  looked, 
with  a  quiet  smile  at  Helen.  "Probably  you  forgot  that 
you  had  just  blotted  a  letter  with  it." 

Helen  started  and  went  pale,  but  not  so  pale  as  her 
father,  who  went  so  chalk-white  that  the  wrinkles 
in  his  skin  looked  like  make-up,  against  its  pallor. 

"I  was  holding  that  blotter  before  the  looking-glass 
this  evening,"  Dorothy  continued,  in  the  same  low  tone, 
"and  I  saw  that  the  ink  had  transferred  to  the  blotter 
a  part  of  what  you  had  written.  I  read  it.  It  was 
this :  'Father  knew  Santry  had  not  killed  Jensen.  .  .  .' ' 

The  Senator  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue  and 
strove  to  chuckle,  but  the  effort  was  a  failure.  Helen, 
however,  appeared  much  relieved. 

"I  remember  now,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  well  repaid 
for  my  moment  of  sentiment.  I  was  writing  to  my 
mother  and  was  telling  her  of  a  scene  that  had  just 
taken  place  between  Mr.  Wade  and  my  father.  I  did 
not  write  what  you  read;  rather,  it  was  not  all  that  I 
wrote.  I  said — 'Gordon  thought  that  father  knew  San- 
try  had  not  killed  Jensen.' " 

"Have  you  posted  that  letter?"  her  father  asked, 
repressing  as  well  as  he  could  his  show  of  eagerness. 


226  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"No.  I  thought  better  about  sending  it.  I  have  it 
up-stairs." 

"If  you  hadn't  it,  of  course  you  could  write  it  again, 
in  any  shape  you  chose,"  Dorothy  observed  crisply, 
though  she  recognized,  plainly  enough,  that  the  expla- 
nation was  at  least  plausible. 

"There  is  nothing  in  that,"  Rexhill  declared,  when 
he  had  taken  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  "Your  cham- 
pionship of  Wade  is  running  away  with  you.  What 
other — er! — grave  charges  have  you  to  bring  against 
me?" 

"I  have  one  that  is  much  more  grave,"  she  retorted, 
so  promptly  that  he  could  not  conceal  a  fresh  start 
of  uneasiness.  "This  morning,  Mr.  Trowbridge  and  I 
were  out  for  a  ride.  We  rode  over  to  the  place  where 
Jensen  was  shot,  and  Mr.  Trowbridge  found  there  a 
cartridge  shell  which  fits  only  one  gun  in  Crawling 
Water.  That  gun  belongs  to  a  man  named  Tug 
Bailey." 

By  now  Rexhill  was  thoroughly  aroused,  for  al- 
though he  was  too  good  a  jurist  not  to  see  the  flaws 
in  so  incomplete  a  fabric  of  evidence  against  him,  he 
was  impressed  with  the  influence  such  a  story  would 
exert  on  public  opinion.  If  possible,  this  girl's  tongue 
must  be  stopped. 

"Pooh!"  He  made  a  fine  show  of  indifference. 
"Why  bring  such  tales  to  me?  You'd  make  a  very 
poor  lawyer,  young  woman,  if  you-  think  that  such 
rumors  will  serve  to  impeach  a  man  of  my  standing." 

"There  is  a  warrant  out  for  Bailey,"  Dorothy  went 
on  quietly.  "If  he  is  caught,  and  I  choose  to  make 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  227 

public  what  I  know  and  can  guess,  I  am  sure  that 
you  will  never  reach  a  court.  You  underestimate  the 
people  here.  I  would  not  have  to  prove  what  I  have 
told  you.  I  need  only  to  proclaim  it,  and — I  don't 
know  what  they'd  do  to  you.  It  makes  me  a  bit 
sick  to  think  about  it." 

The  thought  made  the  Senator  sick,  too,  for  of  late 
he  had  seen  that  things  were  going  very  badly  for 
him.  He  was  prepared  to  temporize,  but  there  was 
no  need  for  him  to  contemplate  surrender,  or  flight, 
so  long  as  Bailey  remained  at  large.  If  the  man  were 
captured,  and  there  was  likelihood  of  a  confession  be- 
ing wrung  from  him,  then  most  decidedly  discretion 
would  be  the  better  part  of  valor. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  he  confessed,  "I  am  willing  to 
admit  that  in  such  a  community  as  this  you  might 
make  trouble,  unjustly,  for  me  and  my  daughter.  I 
am  anxious  to  avoid  that,  because  my  interests  are 
valuable  here  and  I  have  my  daughter's  safety  to  con- 
sider." 

"Don't  think  of  me,"  Helen  interposed  quickly. 
Above  all  fear  for  herself  would  be  the  shame  of  be- 
ing beaten  by  Dorothy  and  of  having  her  triumph  go 
to  the  making  of  Wade's  happiness.  The  thought  of 
that  appeared  far  worse  to  her  mind  than  any  physi- 
cal suffering.  "Do  what  you  think  is  right.  We  are 
not  cowards." 

"But  I  must  think  of  you,  my  dear.  I  am  responsi- 
ble to  your  mother."  He  turned  to  Dorothy  again. 
"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"How  much  ?    Oh !"    She  flushed  hotly  beneath  the 


228  HIDDEN  GOLD 

insult,  but  she  chose  to  ignore  it  "There  is  only  one 
price  that  will  purchase  my  silence.  Tell  me  where 
Mr.  Wade  is?" 

"Bless  my  soul,  I  don't  know."  The  Senator  af- 
fected a  display  of  injured  innocence,  which  sat  oddly 
upon  his  harried  countenance.  "I  am  willing  to  do 
what  I  can  to  save  trouble,  but  I  can't  do  the  impos- 
sible." 

For  a  moment,  in  a  wretched  slough  of  helplessness, 
Dorothy  found  her  conviction  wavering.  Could  it 
really  be  possible  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth ;  that 
he  did  not  know?  But  with  the  dreadful  thought 
came  also  tfie  realization  that  she  must  not  let  him 
fathom  her  mind.  She  told  herself  that  she  must  keep 
her  countenance,  and  she  did  so. 

"There  is  not  a  man  in  Crawling  Water  who  does 
not  believe  that  Race  Moran  is  responsible  for  Mr. 
Wade's  disappearance,"  she  declared.  "That  is  an- 
other thing  that  you  should  consider,  for  it  is  one 
more  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence — impressions,  you 
may  call  them,  but  they  will  be  accepted  as  evidence  by 
Wade's  friends." 

Rexhill  was  considering  it,  and  swiftly,  in  the  light 
of  the  visit  he  had  had  from  Trowbridge.  The  cat- 
tleman had  left  him  with  a  distinct  feeling  that  every 
word  spoken  had  been  meant.  "If  we  can  prove  it 
against  you,  we'll  ride  you  to  hell  on  a  rail."  The 
language  was  melodramatic,  but  it  seemed  very  sug- 
gestive as  the  Senator  called  it  to  mind.  He  regretted 
that  he  had  supported  Moran  in  his  lust  for  revenge. 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  229 

The  lawless  spirit  of  the  West  seemed  to  have  poi- 
soned his  own  blood,  but  somehow  the  feeling  of  in- 
difference as  to  suffering  personal  violence  had  been 
left  out,  and  he  realized  that  the  West  was  no  place 
for  him. 

"Even  so,"  he  said  pompously,  "even  if  what  you 
say  of  Moran  should  prove  true,  it  does  not  follow 
that  I  know  it,  or  am  a  party  to  it.  Race  Moran 
is  his  own  master." 

"He  is  your  employee — your  agent — and  you  are 
responsible  for  what  he  does  in  your  behalf,"  Doro- 
thy retorted  desperately.  "Why  do  you  bandy  words 
with  me  like  this?  You  may  be  able  to  do  it  with 
me,  but  don't  think  that  you  can  do  it  with  Mr.  Trow- 
bridge,  and  the  others,  if  I  tell  them  what  I  know.  I 
tell  you,  you  can't.  You  feel  safe  before  me  alone, 
but  you  are  in  much  greater  danger  than  you  think. 
You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  I  am  holding  your  lives 
in  my  hand." 

Helen's  cheeks  blanched  at  this. 

"I  do  realize  it."  There  was  a  slight  quaver  in 
the  Senator's  voice,  although  he  tried  to  speak  with 
easy  grace.  "I  assure  you,  I  do  and  I  shall  be  very 
grateful  to  you" — his  anxiety  was  crowding  out  his 
discretion — "if  you  will  help  me  to  save  my  daugh- 
ter. .  .  ." 

"I  say  just  what  I  said  before,"  Helen  interposed, 
courageous  to  the  last.  There  is,  many  times,  in  the 
woman  a  finer  fiber  of  courage  than  runs  in  the 
man. 


230  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Dorothy  regarded  the  Senator  scornfully,  her  femi- 
nine intuition  assuring  her  that  he  was  weakening. 
She  no  longer  doubted  that  he  knew;  she  was  certain 
of  it  and  happy  to  feel  that  she  had  only  to  press  him 
harder  to  wring  the  truth  from  him. 

"Grateful?  For  helping  you?  I  am  not  trying  to 
help  you.  You  deserve  any  punishment  that  could 
be  inflicted  upon  you,  I  would  say  that,  even  if  you 
had  not  insulted  me  and  lied  about  me.  You  are  an 
evil  man.  I  am  offering  you  your  safety,  so  far  as 
I  can  grant,  only  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Wade.  If  it 
were  not  for  him,  I  should  not  have  come  here  at 
all." 

Her  sense  of  approaching  triumph  had  carried  her 
a  little  too  far.  It  aroused  Helen  to  bitter  resentment, 
and  when  she  began  to  speak  Dorothy  was  sorry  that 
she  had  not  kept  silent. 

"Father,  don't  do  it !"  Miss  Rexhill  burst  out.  "It 
is  insufferable  that  this  woman  should  threaten  us 
so.  I  would  rather  run  any  risk,  I  don't  care  what, 
than  give  in  to  her.  I  won't  tolerate  such  a  thing." 

"You  may  be  urging  him  to  his  death,"  Dorothy 
warned  her.  "I  will  not  stop  at  anything  now.  If  I 
tell  the  cattlemen  what  I  know  they  will  go  wild.  I 
mean  what  I  say,  believe  me !" 

"I  know  you  will  not  stop  at  anything.  I  have 
seen  that,"  Helen  admitted.  "A  woman  who  can  do 
what  you've  already  done  .  .  ." 

"Helen!"  The  Senator  was  carrying  with  him  a 
sense  of  gratitude  toward  Dorothy,  and  in  the  light 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  231 

of  her  spirit  he  was  a  little  ashamed  of  the  part  he 
had  played  against  her.  "Let's  try  to  forget  what  has 
past.  At  least,  this  young  woman  is  offering  us  a 
chance." 

"Listen!"  Dorothy  cried  out  suddenly. 

Outside,  in  the  street,  a  galloping  horseman  was 
shouting  to  some  one  as  he  rode.  The  girl  ran  to 
the  window  and  raised  the  shade  to  look  out.  The 
lusty  voice  of  the  horseman  bore  well  into  the  room. 
"They've  caught  Bailey  at  Sheridan.  He'll  be  here 
to-morrow." 

"Senator  Rexhill,"  said  Dorothy,  turning  away  from 
the  window,  "you'd  better  take  the  chance  I've  offered 
you,  while  you  can.  Do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
friendship  between  you  and  Gordon  Wade,  if  for  no 
other  reason.  No  matter  how  bitter  he  may  feel  to- 
ward you,  he  would  not  want  you  in  Crawling  Water 
when  Tug  Bailey  confesses.  It  would  be  too  awful." 
She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  "Tell  me  where  he 
is  and  get  out  of  town  at  once." 

"Bailey  hasn't  confessed  yet,"  Helen  cut  in  gamely. 

"No;  but  he  will,"  Dorothy  declare'd  positively. 
"They'll  put  a  rope  around  his  neck,  and  he'll  con- 
fess. Such  men  always  do.  Try  to  remember  the 
position  you  are  in.  You'd  be  sorry  if  your  father 
were  lynched.  Go  with  him,  while  you  can.  I  know 
these  people  better  than  you  do." 

The  Senator  swallowed  hard  and  mopped  his  damp 
forehead  with  his  handkerchief.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  follow  the  girl's  advice,  and  that  quickly, 


232  HIDDEN  GOLD 

he  knew.  After  all,  in  the  face  of  death,  financial 
ruin  seemed  a  mere  bagatelle, 

"So  far  as  I  have  been  informed,  Wade  is  con- 
fined at  Coyote  Springs,  somewhere  in  the  mountains," 
he  said  bluntly.  "That's  all  I  know  of  the  matter.  I 
hope  you  will  find  him  all  right  there.  He  ought  to 
be  very  proud  of  you." 

Dorothy  caught  her  hands  to  her  breast  in  a  little 
gesture  of  exultation,  and  the  expression  on  her  face 
was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see. 

"You'll  go?" 

"In  the  morning,"  Senator  Rexhill  answered. 

Eager  as  Dorothy  was  to  reach  the  big  pine  with 
her  message,  she  could  not  leave  without  giving  Helen 
such  a  glance  of  triumph  as  made  her  wince. 

Then,  hurrying  to  her  pony,  she  rode  rapidly  out 
of  town  into  the  black  night  which  cloaked  the  trail 
leading  to  the  pine.  She  knew  that  her  mother  would 
miss  her  and  be  anxious,  but  the  minutes  were  too 
precious  now  to  be  wasted  even  on  her  mother.  She 
did  not  know  what  peril  Gordon  might  be  in,  and  her 
first  duty  was  to  him.  She  was  almost  wild  with 
anxiety  lest  the  courier  should  not  be  at  his  post,  but 
he  was  there  when  she  dashed  up  to  the  pine. 

"Take  me  to  Mr.  Trowbridge.    Quick !"  she  panted. 

"He's  somewhere  between  Bald  Knob  and  Hatchet 
Hill,"  the  man  explained,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe.  "It's  some  dark,  too,  miss,  for  ridin*  in  this 
country.  Can't  you  wait  until  morning?" 

"I  can't  wait  one  second.     I  have  found  out  where 


A  WAR  OF  WITS  233 

Mr.  Wade  is,  and  I  mean  to  be  with  you  all  when 
you  find  him." 

"You  have,  eh  ?"  The  man,  who  was  one  of  Trow- 
bridge's  punchers,  swung  into  his  saddle.  "That  bein* 
so,  we'd  get  there  if  this  here  night  was  liquid  coal." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  RESCUE  AND  A  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE 

AT  the  end  of  an  hour,  or  so,  the  lion  withdrew  and 
Wade  thought  he  had  seen  the  last  of  it  He  began 
to  pace  up  and  down  the  fissure  once  more,  for  now 
that  his  thin  shirt  was  damp  with  perspiration,  set 
flowing  by  the  nervous  strain  he  had  been  under,  he 
began  to  get  chilly  again.  He  had  just  begun  to 
warm  up,  when  he  heard  the  animal  returning.  He 
crouched  back  against  the  cavern  wall,  but  the  lion 
had  evidently  lost  the  zest  for  such  impossible  prey. 
It  walked  about  and  sniffed  at  the  edges  of  the  fissure 
for  some  minutes;  then  it  sneaked  off  into  the  timber 
with  a  cat-like  whimper. 

The  exhausted  ranchman  kept  his  feet  as  long  as 
he  could,  but  when  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun 
cast  purple  shadows  into  the  depths  of  the  hole,  he 
could  no  longer  keep  awake.  With  his  hands,  he 
drifted  the  loose  sand  about  him,  as  travelers  do  when 
exposed  to  a  snow-blizzard,  and  slept  until  Goat  Neale 
aroused  him,  in  broad  daylight.  The  Texan  performed 
this  service  by  deftly  dropping  a  small  stone  upon 
the  sleeping  man's  face. 

"I  just  stepped  over  to  inquire  what  you-all'd  like 
for  breakfast  this  mornin',"  he  said  with  a  grin.  "Not 
that  it  matters  much,  'cause  the  dumb-waiter  down  to 

234 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE     235 

where  you  be  ain't  waitin'  to-day,  but  it's  manners, 
kinder,  to  ask." 

Wade  looked  up  at  him  grimly,  but  said  nothing. 
Just  awake  as  he  was,  his  healthy  stomach  clamored 
for  food,  but  since  none  would  be  given  him,  he  knew 
that  he  might  as  well  try  to  be  patient. 

"Mebbe  you'd  like  to  step  over  to  our  hotel  an' 
take  your  meals,  eh?"  The  Texan  went  on,  after  a 
short  pause.  "I've  got  a  pot  of  coffee  bilin'  an'  a 
mess  o'  bacon  fryin'.  No?"  He  grinned  sardoni- 
cally. "How'd  you  like  me  to  give  you  some  o'  this 
here  cabareet  stuff,  while  you're  waitin'?  I  ain't  no 
great  shucks  as  a  entertainer,  but  I'll  do  what  I  can. 
Mebbe,  you'd  like  to  know  how  I  happened  to  catch 
you  that  clump  on  the  head  yesterday.  Huh? 

"I  was  up  in  the  low  branches  of  a  thick  pine,  where 
you  was  moseyin'  along.  You  was  that  busy  watchin' 
the  ground,  you  never  thought  to  raise  them  eyes  o' 
yourn.  I  just  reached  down  and  lammed  you  good 
with  a  piece  of  stick,  an'  here  you  be,  safe  an'  sound 
as  a  beetle  in  a  log.  Here  you'll  stay,  too,  likely,  on- 
less  you  get  some  sense,  and  I  don't  know  when  that 
there  dumbwaiter'll  get  to  runnin'.  It's  a  shame,  too, 
if  you  ask  me,  'cause  a  man  needs  his  three  or  four 
squares  a  day  in  this  here  climate." 

"How  much  do  you  want  to  give  me  a  hand  out 
of  here,  Neale?"  the  cattleman  demanded  abruptly, 
tired  of  listening  to  the  fellow's  monotonous  drawl; 
and  after  all  the  chance  was  worth  taking. 

The  eyes  of  the  Texan  glittered. 

"Got  the  money  on  you?" 


236  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"You'd  get  the  money  all  right." 

"Sure,  son,  I  know  that — if  you  had  it!  I'd  just 
hold  my  gun  on  you,  an'  you'd  toss  the  roll  up  here, 
without  puttin'  me  to  the  trouble  o'  givin'  you  no 
hand."  He  chuckled  in  appreciation  of  his  own  hu- 
mor. "But  I  know  you  ain't  got  it  on  you — we 
frisked  you  down  yonder  in  the  timber — an'  I  don't 
deal  in  no  promises.  This  here  is  a  cash  game.  If  I 
thought  tha  .  .  ." 

He  whirled  about  suddenly,  looking  behind  him  and 
seemed  to  listen  for  an  instant;  then  his  hand  dropped 
to  the  gun  at  his  hip.  He  never  drew  the  weapon, 
however,  for  with  a  horrible  facial  grimace,  as  his 
body  contorted  tinder  the  impact  of  a  bullet,  he  threw 
his  arms  into  the  air  and  reeled  over  the  edge  of  the 
hole.  A  second  afterward  the  report  of  a  rifle  came 
to  Wade's  ears. 

"Hello !"  the  rancher  shouted,  springing  from  under 
the  Texan's  falling  body.  The  instant  it  struck  the 
sand,  Wade  snatched  Neale's  revolver  from  its  holster 
and  waited  for  him  to  try  to  rise ;  but  he  did  not  move. 
A  bloody  froth  stained  his  lips,  while  a  heavier  stain 
on  his  shirt,  just  under  the  heart,  told  where  the 
bullet  had  struck.  The  man  was  dead. 

"Hello!  Hello!"  Wade  shouted  repeatedly,  and 
discharged  the  revolver  into  the  sand.  He  realized 
that,  although  a  friend  must  have  fired  the  rifle,  there 
was  nothing  to  show  where  he  was.  "Hello !" 

"Hello !"  The  hail  was  answered  by  the  newcomer, 
who,  thus  guided,  approached  the  spot  until  his  voice 
was  near  at  hand.  "Hello !" 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE     237 

"Hello !  Come  on !"  The  prisoner  threw  his  hat  up 
out  of  the  hole  "Here  I  am!" 

The  next  moment  Bill  Santry,  with  tears  streaming 
down  his  weather-beaten  cheeks,  was  bending  over  the 
edge  of  the  fissure  with  down-stretched  hands.  Be- 
neath his  self-control  the  old  man  was  soft-hearted 
as  a  woman,  and  in  his  delight  he  now  made  no  at- 
tempt to  restrain  himself. 

"Thank  Gawd  for  this  minute!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Give  me  your  hands,  boy.  I  can  just  reach  'em  if  I 
stretch  a  little  an'  you  jump."  Wade  did  so  and  was 
drawn  up  out  of  the  hole.  "Thank  Gawd!  Thank 
Gawd!"  the  old  fellow  kept  exclaiming,  patting  his 
employer  on  the  back.  "Didn't  hurt  you  much,  did 
they?" 

Before  Wade  could  answer,  a  patter  of  hoofs  caused 
him  to  turn,  as  Dorothy  slipped  from  Gypsy's  bare 
back  and  ran  toward  him.  She  stumbled  when  she 
had  almost  reached  him,  and  he  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"'Are  you  all  right?  Oh,  your  head!  It's  hurt — 
see,  the  blood?"  She  clung  to  him  and  searched  his 
face  with  her  eyes,  while  he  tried  to  soothe  her. 

"It's  nothing,  just  a  bad  bruise,  but  how — ?"  He 
checked  the  question  upon  his  lips.  "We  mustn't  stay 
here.  Moran  may  have  .  .  ." 

"There  ain't  nobody  here.  I  wish  to  Gawd  he  was 
here  I'd  .  .  ."  Santry's  face  was  twisted  with  rage. 
"  'Course,"  he  added,  "I  knew  it  was  him,  so'd  Lem 
Trowbridge.  But  we  come  right  smack  through  their 
camp:  and  there  was  nobody  there.  This  here  skunk 


238  HIDDEN  GOLD 

that  I  plugged,  he  must  be  the  only  one.  I  got  him, 
I  reckon." 

"Yes,"  Wade  answered  simply,  as  he  watched  three 
men  from  the  Trowbridge  ranch  ride  up  to  them. 
"Where's  Lem?" 

Dorothy  explained  that  she  had  set  out  to  find 
him  in  company  with  the  man  she  had  met  at  the  big 
pine;  but  on  the  way  they  had  met  Santry  and  the 
three  cowboys.  One  of  the  men  had  then  ridden  on  to 
Bald  Knob  after  Trowbridge,  while  the  rest  had  come 
straight  to  Coyote  Springs.  She  tried  to  speak  quietly, 
but  she  could  not  keep  the  song  of  happiness  out  of 
her  voice,  or  the  love  out  of  her  eyes. 

"Then  you  did  this,  too?"  Wade  wrung  her  hands 
and  looked  at  her  proudly.  "But  how —  I  don't 
understand?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  when  we're  in  the  saddle,"  she  said 
shyly.  "There's  so  much  to  tell." 

"Santry!"  The  ranch  owner  threw  his  arm  fondly 
across  the  shoulders  of  his  foreman.  "You,  too,  and 
Lem.  I've  got  all  my  friends  to  thank.  Say,  dig 
a  grave  for  this  fellow,  Neale.  There  was  a  lion 
around  here  last  night,  and  I'd  hate  to  have  him  get 
Neale,  bad  as  he  was.  Then — "  His  voice  became 
crisp  with  determination.  "Hunt  up  Trowbridge  and 
ask  him  to  pass  the  word  for  everybody  to  meet  at 
the  ranch,  as  soon  as  possible.  There's  going  to  be 
open  war  here  in  the  valley  from  now  on."  He  turned 
again  to  Dorothy.  "Dorothy,  I'm  going  to  take  you 
right  on  home  with  me." 

"Oh,  but  .  .  ."     The  gleam  in  his  eyes  made  her 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE    239 

pause.  She  was  too  glad  to  have  found  him  safe, 
besides,  to  wish  to  cross  him  in  whatever  might  be  his 
purpose. 

"No  buts  about  it.  I'll  send  for  your  mother,  too, 
of  course.  Town  won't  be  any  place  for  either  of  you 
until  this  business  is  settled.  George!"  he  called  to 
one  of  the  three  cowmen,  who  rode  over  to  him.  "I 
suppose  it'll  be  all  right  for  you  to  take  orders  from 
me?" 

"I  reckon  so." 

"I  want  you  to  ride  into  Crawling  Water.  Get  a 
buckboard  there  and  bring  Mrs.  Purnell  out  to  my 
place.  Tell  her  that  her  daughter  is  there,  and  she'll 
come.  Come  now,  little  girl."  He  caught  Dorothy 
in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  on  to  Gypsy's  back.  "All 
right,  boys,  and  much  obliged."  He  waved  the  little 
cavalcade  on  its  way,  and  swung  into  the  saddle  on 
the  extra  horse,  which  Santry  had  provided. 

On  the  way  down  through  the  timber,  Dorothy  mod- 
estly told  him  of  the  part  she  had  played,  with  the 
help  of  Lem  Trowbridge.  He  listened  with  amaze- 
ment to  the  story  of  her  generalship,  and  was  relieved 
to  hear  that  the  Rexhills  were  probably  already  out 
of  Crawling  Water,  for  that  left  him  a  free  hand  to 
act  against  Moran.  This  time  the  agent  must  suffer 
the  penalty  of  his  misdeeds,  but  greater  even  than  his 
pleasure  at  that  thought,  was  Wade's  gratitude  to  Dor- 
othy for  all  she  had  done  for  him.  He  was  filled  with 
a  wonderful  tenderness  for  her,  which  made  him  see 
in  the  play  of  her  facial  expression ;  the  shy  lowering 
of  her  lashes;  the  color  which  ebbed  and  flowed  in 


240  HIDDEN  GOLD 

her  cheeks;  the  free  use  which  she  made  of  her  red 
lips,  a  greater  fascination  than  she  had  ever  before 
exerted  over  him.  There,  in  the  fissure,  he  had  ex- 
pected never  to  be  at  her  side  again,  and  now  that  he 
was  so,  and  knew  what  she  had  come  to  mean  to  him, 
the  old  friendship  between  them  seemed  no  longer  pos- 
sible; certainly  not  from  his  side.  He  felt,  in  its 
place,  all  the  confusion  of  a  lover,  anxious  to  speak 
and  yet  struck  dumb  with  clumsiness  and  the  fear, 
never  absent  no  matter  what  the  degree  of  encourage- 
ment, that  his  suit  might  not  find  favor  with  the  lady 
when  put  into  words. 

"You're  a  wonderful  girl,"  he  burst  out,  at  last, 
with  a  heartiness  that,  in  bringing  a  flush  to  her 
cheeks,  made  the  old  phrase  seem  new  to  her  ears. 

"I'm  not  at  all,"  she  denied  shyly.  "I  just  had  to 
do  it,  that  was  all.  "  People  always  do  what  they  have 
to  do." 

"They  do  not.  Lots  of  them  can't,  but  you — you're 
always  capable ;  that's  what  makes  you  so  wonderful, 
Dorothy!"  He  pulled  his  horse  closer  to  hers,  mean- 
ing to  put  his  arm  around  her,  but  he  dared  not  at- 
tempt it,  when  her  dress  brushed  his  sleeve. 

"Yes?"  She  was  trembling  now  far  more  than 
when  she  had  faced  the  Rexhills.  "What  is  it?*' 

His  arm  dropped  to  his  side,  and  he  suddenly  be- 
came acutely  conscious  of  his  appearance,  what  with 
his  blood-matted  hair;  his  blood-stained  and  soiled 
face;  his  generally  woe-begone  and  desperate  state. 
At  least,  before  he  risked  his  future  on  such  a  ques- 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE    241 

tion,  he  ought  to  make  himself  as  presentable  as  he 
could. 

"Nothing." 

"But — "  She  looked  at  him  curiously.  "You  were 
going  to  say  something,  weren't  you?" 

"Yes;  but  I'm  not  going  to  do  it  until  I  can  get  to 
a  hair-brush,  and  a  wash-basin,  and  a  clean  shirt,"  he 
answered  lugubriously.  "What  I've  got  on  my  mind 
is  a  church-going  sentiment  and  I  want  to  be  in  church- 
going  clothes."  The  expression  of  his  countenance 
contributed  more  than  his  words  to  the  humor  he 
strove  for,  and  she  laughed  at  him,  merrily  with  her 
mouth,  very  tenderly  with  her  eyes. 

"There's  the  house."  She  pointed  ahead.  "Even 
though  I'm  riding  bareback,  I  can  beat  you  to  it. 
Come  on!" 

Once  Wade  was  within  reach  of  food,  his  hunger 
became  insistent,  and  he  could  not  wait  for  the  cook 
to  prepare  a  meal  of  fried  chicken.  He  foraged  in  the 
larder  beforehand,  and  then  did  full  justice  to  the 
meal  put  before  him.  By  the  time  this  was  over,  Mrs. 
Purnell  arrived,  and  he  had  no  chance  to  get  into  his 
"church-going  clothes,"  as  he  called  them.  He  had  to 
tell  the  old  lady  all  that  had  befallen  him. 

"I  never  would  have  thought  it  of  that  Miss  Rex- 
hill,"  Mrs.  Purnell  declared. 

"It  wasn't  Miss  Rexhill,  it  was  her  father  and  Race 
Moran,"  Dorothy  interposed. 

"Or  the  Senator  either,  speaking  merely  from  the 
looks  of  him,"  her  mother  retorted.  "And  think  of 


242  HIDDEN  GOLD 

the  position  he  holds,  a  Senator  of  the  United  States!" 

"That's  no  hall-mark  of  virtue  these  days,"  Wade 
laughed. 

"Well,  it  should  be.  If  we're  to  have  people  like 
him  running  the  Nation,  there's  no  telling  where  we'll 
end." 

"It  just  goes  to  show  how  an  honest  man,  for  I  think 
Rexhill  was  an  honest  man  when  I  first  knew  him,  can 
go  wrong  by  associating  with  the  wrong  people,"  said 
Wade.  He  could  not  forget  his  earlier  friendship 
for  the  Rexhills,  and  to  him  the  word  friendship  meant 
much.  "He  not  only  got  in  with  a  bad  crowd,  but 
he  got  going  at  a  pace  that  wrung  money  out  of  him 
every  time  he  moved.  Then,  in  the  last  election,  he 
was  hit  hard,  and  I  suppose  he  felt  that  he  had  to 
recoup,  even  if  he  had  to  sacrifice  his  friends  to  do 
it.  We  mustn't  judge  a  man  like  that  too  hard.  We 
live  differently  out  here,  and  maybe  we  don't  under- 
stand those  temptations.  I'm  mighty  glad  they've  gone 
away.  I  can  get  right  down  to  work  now,  without 
any  qualms  of  conscience." 

"But  think  of  you,  Dorothy,  out  all  night  in  those 
mountains!"  Mrs.  Purnell  exclaimed. 

"Mother — "  Dorothy  smiled  tenderly.  "You  al- 
ways think  backward  to  yesterday,  instead  of  forward 
to  to-morrow." 

By  then,  the  first  of  the  neighboring  ranchers  were 
'drifting  in,  in  response  to  Wade's  summons  When 
all  were  present,  and  Trowbridge  had  wrung  Wade's 
hand  in  a  hearty  pressure  of  congratulation,  they  were 
asked  into  the  living-room,  where  Santry  stood  in  a 


243 

corner,  munching  slowly  on  a  mouthful  of  tobacco 
and  smiling  grimly  to  himself. 

"Gentlemen,"  began  Wade,  facing  the  little  group 
of  stern-faced  men,  "you  all  know  why  we  are  here. 
To  a  greater  or  lesser  extent,  we've  all  suffered  from 
Race  Moran's  depredations,  although  until  lately  none 
of  us  knew  his  motive.  Now,  however,  we  know  that 
there  is  gold  here  in  the  valley — on  our  land — which 
Moran  is  trying  to  get  possession  of.  He  has  proved 
that  he  is  willing  to  resort  to  any  villainy  to  get  what 
he  wants,  and  while  he  and  his  men  are  at  large  our 
lives  and  most  of  our  ranches  are  in  danger. 

"We  have  tried  the  law,  but  it  has  not  helped  us. 
Such  little  law  as  we  have  here  is  entirely  in  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  We  must  now  assume  the  direction 
of  our  own  affairs.  Many  of  you  have  already  served 
in  a  vigilance  committee,  and  you  all  know  the  pur- 
pose of  such  an  organization.  My  idea  is  to  form 
one  now  to  take  possession  of  Crawling  Water  and 
run  Moran  and  his  hired  bullies  out  of  the  county. 
Between  us,  we  can  muster  about  a  hundred  men;  more 
than  enough  to  turn  the  trick,  and  the  quicker  we  get 
to  work  the  sooner  we'll  be  able  to  go  about  our  busi- 
ness affairs  without  fear  of  being  shot  in  the  back. 
My  plan  is  this:  Let  us  assemble  our  force  quietly, 
ride  into  Crawling  Water,  capture  Moran  and  his  fol- 
lowers, and  escort  them  out  of  the  county.  There 
must  be  no  lynching  or  unnecessary  bloodshed;  but  if 
they  resist,  as  some  of  them  will,  we  must  use  such 
force  as  is  needed  to  overcome  them." 

He  stopped  speaking,  and  for  some  minutes  silence 


244  HIDDEN  GOLD 

prevailed.  Then  Bill  Santry  shifted  the  quid  in  his 
cheek,  spat  unerringly  through  the  open  window,  and 
began  to  talk.  His  loose-jointed  figure  had  suddenly 
become  tense  and  forceful;  his  lean  face  was  deter- 
mined and  very  grim. 

"Being  as  I've  suffered  some  from  this  skunk,  and 
have  lived  here  some  while,  so  to  say,  mebbe  I  can 
horn  in?"  he  began. 

"Go  ahead!"  said  Wade  heartily. 

"Gordon  here  has  stated  the  gist  o'  this  business  a 
whole  lot  better' n  I  could,  but  I'd  like  to  make  a  few 
additional  remarks.  We've  all  been  neighbors  for 
some  years,  and  in  the  natural  course  of  things  we've 
been  pretty  good  friends.  Until  this  feller,  Moran, 
got  to  monkeyin'  around  here,  there  wasn't  no  trou- 
ble to  talk  about,  and  we  was  all  able  to  carry  on  our 
work  calm  and  peaceful  like.  But  since  this  skunk 
camped  among  us,  we  ain't  hardly  knowed  what  a 
decent  sleep  is  like ;  he's  grabbed  our  range,  butchered 
our  stock,  shot  up  our  men,  lied,  and  carried  on  high, 
in  general.  We've  given  the  law  a  chance  to  do  the 
square  thing  by  us.  All  we  asked  was  a  fair  shake, 
and  we  turned  the  other  cheek,  as  the  Bible  says,  hopin' 
that  we  could  win  through  without  too  much  fightin', 
but  we've  been  handed  the  muddy  end  of  the  stick 
every  time.  It's  come  to  a  show-down,  gents.  We 
either  got  to  let  Moran  do  as  he  damn  pleases  'round 
here,  or  show  him  that  he's  tackled  a  buzz-saw.  Most 
of  us  was  weaned  some  earlier  than  the  day  before 
yisterday.  We  gradooated  from  the  tenderfoot  class 
some  time  back,  and  it's  up  to  us  to  prove  it." 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE    245 

He  paused  and  looked  around  him  earnestly  for  a 
moment;  then,  as  his  audience  remained  silent,  he  went 
on: 

"I'm  older'n  you  men,  an'  I've  lived  a  heap  in  my 
time.  For  nearly  forty  years  I've  been  knockin'  'round 
this  Western  country  without  no  nurse  or  guardeen 
to  look  after  me.  I've  mixed  with  all  kinds,  and  I've 
been  in  some  scrapes;  there's  notches  on  my  gun 
handles  to  prove  that  I  ain't  been  no  quitter.  I've 
rode  with  the  vigilantes  more'n  once,  and  the  vigi- 
lantes has  rode  after  me — more'n  once;  in  my  young 
days  I  wa'n't  exactly  what  you'd  call  a  nickel-plated 
saint.  But  I  never  killed  a  man,  'cept  in  a  fair  fight, 
an'  I  don't  believe  in  violence  unless  it's  necessary.  It's 
necessary  right  now,  fellers!  Moran's  gone  too  far! 
Things  have  drawed  to  a  point  where  we've  got  to 
fight  or  quit.  In  my  experience,  I  ain't  never  seen 
but  one  judge  that  couldn't  be  bought;  money  an'  in- 
fluence don't  count  a  whoop  with  him.  It's  Judge  Colt, 
gents!  You  all  know  him;  an'  with  him  on  our  side 
we  can  round  up  Moran  an'  his  crew  of  gun-fighters, 
an'  ship  'em  out  of  the  country  for  keeps.  Now's  the 
time !  The  quicker  we  get  busy,  the  quicker  the  air  in 
these  hills  will  be  fit  for  a  white  man  to  breathe." 

"It's  a  go  with  me,"  Lem  Trowbridge  declared 
grimly.  "That's  what  I'm  here  for.  How  about  the 
rest  of  you  ?" 

When  the  other  stock  men  assented,  Wade  smiled, 
for  he  knew  their  type.  Honest,  hard-working,  peace- 
loving  men  though  they  were,  when  aroused  they  pos- 
sessed the  courage  and  tenacity  of  bull-dogs.  They 


246  HIDDEN  GOLD 

were  aroused  now,  and  they  would  carry  on  to  the 
end,  with  a  step  as  firm  and  relentless  as  the  march 
of  Time.  Woe  to  whoever  attempted  to  thwart  them 
in  their  purpose! 

Wade's  neighbor  to  the  north,  Dave  Kelly,  spoke  up 
in  his  slow,  nasal  drawl.  "You  say  there's  to  be  no 
lynchin',"  he  remarked.  "How  about  Tug  Bailey, 
when  he  gets  here  from  Sheridan?  According  to  what 
Lem  says,  Bailey  shot  Jensen." 

"Sure,  he  did,"  Trowbridge  put  in.  "We'll  just  slip 
a  noose  over  his  head  and  make  him  confess.  That'll 
publicly  clear  Gordon  and  Bill.  Then  we'll  give  him 
a  good  coat  of  tar  and  feathers  and  run  him  out  of 
town." 

"That's  right,"  said  Santry.  "Jensen  was  only  a 
Swede  and  a  sheepherder.  This  here  committee's  to 
protect  men." 

Kelly  chuckled.  "Have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said. 
"I'm  not  particular.  As  it  is,  there'll  be  plenty  do- 
ing." 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  cattlemen  went  over  the 
plan  of  their  campaign,  which  worked  out  into  sim- 
plicity itself.  Early  the  next  evening  they  would  mar- 
shal their  force  outside  of  Crawling  Water,  each  man 
armed  and  mounted.  After  dark  they  would  ride  up 
the  main  street,  where  they  would  halt  at  each  cross- 
ing, while  a  squad  detailed  for  the  purpose  searched 
each  saloon  and  other  gathering  place  for  members 
of  Moran's  gang.  After  the  prisoners  were  rounded 
up  they  would  be  assembled  in  a  compact  body  and 
marched  to  the  railroad  where  they  would  be  set  free, 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE    247 

under  threat  of  instant  death  if  they  ever  returned  to 
Crawling  Water. 

Although  counting  on  superior  numbers  and  the 
morale  of  his  men,  Wade,  who  had  been  chosen  to 
command  the  little  army,  knew  that  there  would  be 
considerable  hard  fighting.  Moran's  people  would 
probably  be  scattered  and  otherwise  unprepared  for 
the  attack,  but  many  of  them  would  resist  to  the 
death.  If  Moran  should  attempt  an  organized  re- 
sistance, the  cattlemen  meant  to  storm  the  town.  Once 
the  first  shot  was  fired,  the  fight  would  be  to  a  finish, 
for  any  other  outcome  than  victory  would  spell  ruin 
for  the  cattle  interests  in  that  section. 

The  prospect  was  more  than  serious.  Moran  had 
established  himself  in  Crawling  Water  and  practi- 
cally ruled  it,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  some  sixty 
adherents,  the  off-scouring  of  a  dozen  lawless  com- 
munities. The  decent  citizens  held  aloof  from  him, 
but  on  the  other  hand  the  lower  element  viewed  his 
reign  with  favor.  The  gamblers,  particularly  Monte 
Joe,  who  proclaimed  himself  Moran's  lieutenant,  had 
welcomed  him,  as  had  the  saloonkeepers,  to  all  of  whom 
the  presence  of  his  men  meant  gainful  trade.  The 
better  class,  in  the  town  itself,  was  in  the  minority 
and  unable  to  restrain  the  unbridled  license  which  flour- 
ished everywhere. 

No  matter  how  stiff  Moran's  resistance  proved, 
however,  Wade  felt  very  sure  of  the  final  result.  He 
knew  the  men  in  his  party  and  he  knew  that  they 
meant  business.  He  was  relieved  to  believe  that  Doro- 
thy and  her  mother  would  be  safe  at  the  ranch  until 


248  HIDDEN  GOLD 

after  the  trouble  was  over,  and  that  Helen  and  Sen- 
ator Rexhill  had  left  Crawling  Water.  The  two  fac- 
tions were  now  arrayed  against  each  other  almost  like 
opposing  armies,  and  the  cattleman  shuddered  to  think 
what  his  state  of  mind  would  have  been  had  Doro- 
thy and  Mrs.  Purnell  remained  in  Crawling  Water. 

"You'll  be  entirely  safe  here,"  he  told  them,  when 
he  was  ready  to  leave  for  Crawling  Water  on  the 
following  evening.  "I  shall  leave  Barker  to  look  after 
your  wants,  but  you  won't  really  need  him.  There 
isn't  a  sheepherder,  or  any  of  the  Moran  gang,  be- 
tween here  and  Crawling  Water.  The  fighting  will 
all  be  in  town,  thank  goodness." 

At  the  word  "fighting"  Dorothy  caught  her  breath 
sharply,  too  proud  to  urge  him  against  his  duty  and 
yet  afraid  for  him.  He  had  not  been  able  to  muster 
courage  enough  to  speak  to  her  of  what  was  in  his 
heart,  foolish  though  that  was  in  him,  and  he  sat  there 
in  the  saddle  for  a  moment,  looking  tenderly  down 
on  her  as  she  stood  smoothing  out  his  horse's  fore- 
lock. 

"Do  be  careful  of  yourself,  Gordon,"  Mrs.  Pur- 
nell called  to  him  from  the  porch,  but  he  did  not  hear 
her. 

"I  haven't  had  a  chance  yet  to  get  into  my  church- 
going  clothes,  have  I?"  he  said  whimsically  to  Doro- 
thy, who  flushed  prettily  and  looked  away. 

"I  don't  see  what  clothes  have  to  do  with  talking 
to  me,"  she  said  half  coyly  and  half  mischievously. 

"Neither  do  I,"  he  agreed.  She  had  stepped  aside 
and  his  horse's  head  was  free.  "I  guess  they  haven't 


RESCUE  AND  VIGILANCE  COMMITTEE    249 

a  thing  to  do  with  it,  but  I  haven't  been  seeing  things 
exactly  straight  lately.    I  reckon  I've  been  half  locoed." 
Touching  his  horse  with  the  spurs,  he  loped  away 
to  join  Santry,  who  was  waiting  for  him  on  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BAFFLED,    BUT   STILL  DANGEROUS 

WHEN  Trowbridge  left  Dorothy  Purnell,  promising 
to  find  his  friend  for  her  sake,  he  had  assumed  a  con- 
fidence that  he  was  far  from  feeling.  No  man  knew 
the  country  thereabout  any  better  than  he  did,  and 
he  realized  that  there  was,  at  best,  only  a  meager  chance 
of  trailing  the  miscreant  who  had  succeeded  in  trap- 
ping his  victim  somewhere  in  the  mountains.  A 
weaker  man  would  have  paused  in  dismay  at  the  hope- 
lessness of  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  but  Lem  Trow- 
bridge was  neither  weak  nor  capable  of  feeling  dismay, 
or  of  acknowledging  hopelessness.  Time  enough  for 
all  that  after  he  should  have  failed.  In  the  meantime 
it  was  up  to  him  to  follow  Moran.  He  had  learned 
from  Santry  of  the  place  where  Wade  was  stricken 
down,  but  how  far  from  there,  or  in  what  direction 
he  had  been  taken,  was  a  matter  of  conjecture  only, 
and  the  only  way  to  learn  was  to  trail  the  party  that 
had  undoubtedly  carried  the  helpless  man  away  per- 
haps to  his  death,  but  possibly,  and  more  probably, 
to  held  him  captive. 

Desperate  as  he  knew  Moran  to  be,  he  did  not  be- 
lieve that  the  immediate  murder  of  Gordon  Wade  was 
planned.  That  would  be  poor  strategy  and  Moran  was 
too  shrewd  to  strike  in  that  fashion. 

250 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS  251 

It  seemed  clear  enough  that  parley  of  some  sort 
was  intended  but  knowing  both  Wade  and  Moran  as 
he  did,  Trowbridge  realized  that  in  order  to  be  of 
any  assistance,  he  must  be  on  the  spot  without  delay. 
He  had  planned  rapidly  and  he  now  acted  rapidly. 

One  of  his  men  was  stationed  at  the  big  pine,  as  he 
had  told  Dorothy,  but  all  the  others  in  his  employ 
rode  with  him  as  swiftly  as  the  best  horses  on  his 
ranch  could  carry  them,  to  the  spot  Santry  had  told 
him  of.  There  they  found  unmistakable  traces  of  half 
a  dozen  or  more  horses,  besides  the  footprints  of 
Wade's  mount,  and  a  brief  examination  was  enough 
to  show  which  way  the  party  had  gone.  Undoubtedly 
they  had  taken  Wade  with  them,  so  the  pursuing  party 
followed. 

It  was  one  thing  to  follow,  however,  and  another 
thing  to  overtake.  Moran  was  better  versed  in  the 
intricacies  of  big  cities  than  in  those  of  the  wilderness, 
but  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  realize  that  Wade's 
friends  would  start  an  instant  search,  as  soon  as  they 
should  miss  the  ranchman,  and  it  was  no  part  of  his 
plans  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 

Therefore,  as  soon  as  he  had  had  his  victim  thrown 
into  the  prison  from  which  escape  seemed  impossi- 
ble, Moran  selected  a  camp  site  nearby,  from  which 
he  had  a  view  of  the  surrounding  country  for  miles 
around  in  every  direction,  and  scanning  the  horizon 
carefully  after  his  vain  attempt  to  intimidate  Wade, 
he  saw  Trowbridge's  party  approaching,  while  they 
were  still  half  a  dozen  miles  away. 

His  first  thought  was  to  stay  where  he  was  and 


252  HIDDEN  GOLD 

give  battle.  In  this  he  would  have  had  a  good  chance 
of  victory,  for,  by  opening  fire  on  Trowbridge  and  his 
followers  as  they  came  up,  he  could  undoubtedly  have 
picked  off  three  or  four  of  them  before  they  reached 
him,  and  so  secured  odds  in  his  own  favor,  if  it 
should  come  to  an  immediate  encounter. 

Second  thought,  however,  showed  him  the  folly  of 
such  a  course.  There  was  too  much  remaining  for 
him  to  do,  and  the  temporary  advantage  he  might 
gain  would  not  compensate  him  for  the  havoc  it  would 
make  in  his  ultimate  designs.  He  therefore  called 
Goat  Neale  aside  and  said:  "There's  a  party  of  Wade's 
friends  coming  up  from  the  East,  looking  for  him, 
and  I've  got  to  lead  them  away.  You  stay  here,  but 
keep  in  hiding  and  take  care  that  nobody  learns  where 
Wade  is.  He'll  live  for  a  few  days  without  grub 
and  I'll  come  back  and  tend  to  his  case  after  I've  got 
this  party  going  round  in  circles. 

"You  stay,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  all  ride  off  to 
the  north,  and  they'll  think  we  have  Wade  with  us,  so 
they'll  follow  us,  but  we'll  lose  them  somewhere  on  the 
way.  Sabe  ?" 

Neale  demurred  at  first  to  the  plan,  but  consented 
willingly  enough  when  Moran  promised  him  extra  pay ; 
so  he  stayed,  and  we  already  know  the  result.  Moran, 
however,  followed  out  his  plans  successfully  enough, 
and  before  night  he  reached  Crawling  Water  in  safety, 
while  Trowbridge,  getting  word  through  one  of  his 
scouts  of  Wade's  rescue,  abandoned  the  pursuit.  He 
had  been  prepared  to  shoot  Moran  down  at  sight,  but 
he  was  ready  enough  to  leave  that  work  to  the  man 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS      253 

who  had  a  better  claim  to  the  privilege  than  he  had. 

Accordingly  Moran  had  ridden  into  town,  exhausted 
by  the  exertions  of  his  trip,  and  had  slept  for  twelve 
hours  before  thinking  of  anything  else.  When  he 
learned  on  awakening  of  all  that  had  happened  during 
his  absence,  he  was  furious  with  rage.  Tug  Bailey 
had  been  arrested  and  was  on  his  way  to  Crawling 
Water  in  custody.  Senator  Rexhill  and  Helen  had 
taken  an  Eastward-bound  train  without  leaving  any 
word  for  him,  and  to  crown  it  all,  he  presently  learned 
that  Neale  had  been  shot  and  Wade  had  been  found, 
and  that  the  whole  countryside  was  aflame  with  in- 
dignation. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  man  that  even  in  this 
emergency  he  had  no  thought  of  following  his  cow- 
ardly accomplice  in  flight.  It  might  be  hopeless  to 
stay  and  fight,  but  he  was  a  fighting  man,  and  he  really 
exulted  in  the  thought  of  the  inevitable  struggle  that 
was  coming. 

Sitting  alone  in  his  office  studying  the  situation,  he 
felt  the  need  of  liquor  even  more  strongly  than  usual, 
though  the  habit  had  grown  on  him  of  late,  and  ac- 
cordingly he  drank  again  and  again,  increasing  his 
rage  thereby,  but  getting  little  help  towards  a  solu- 
tion of  his  difficulties. 

He  was  enraged  most  of  all  at  Wade's  escape  from 
Coyote  Springs  and  was  still  puzzled  to  think  how 
this  had  happened,  for  Senator  Rexhill  in  leaving  had 
kept  his  own  counsel  on  that  point,  and  Moran  did 
not  dream  of  his  having  betrayed  the  secret. 

Not  only  had  the  ranchman  been  able  to  turn  an- 


254  HIDDEN  GOLD 

other  trick  in  the  game  by  escaping,  but  he  had  alsc 
evaded  Moran's  intended  vengeance,  for  the  latter  had 
had  no  thought  of  letting  his  prisoner  go  alive.  He 
had  meant  first  to  secure  Wade's  signature,  and  then 
to  make  away  with  him  so  cleverly  as  to  escape  con- 
viction for  the  act. 

He  realized  now,  when  it  was  too  late,  that  he  had 
acted  too  deliberately  in  that  matter,  and  he  was  sorry 
for  it  He  considered  the  departure  of  the  Rexhills 
a  cowardly  defection.  He  was  furious  to  think  that 
Helen  had  refused  to  listen  to  him  while  she  stayed,  or 
to  say  good-by  to  him  before  leaving.  The  sting  of 
these  various  reflections  led  him  to  take  further  pull 
at  a  silver  flask  which  he  kept  in  his  pocket,  and  which 
bore  the  inscription,  "To  Race  Moran  from  his  friends 
of  the  Murray  Hill  Club." 

"So,"  he  muttered,  chewing  his  mustache,  "that's 
what  I  get  for  sticking  to  Rexhill."  Leaning  back 
in  his  swivel  chair,  he  put  his  feet  up  on  the  desk 
and  hooked  his  fingers  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  vest. 
"Well,  I  ain't  ready  to  run  yet,  not  by  a  jugful." 

In  his  decision  to  remain,  however,  he  was  actuated 
by  a  desire  to  close  with  Wade,  and  not  by  any  enthu- 
siasm for  the  cause  of  the  hired  rascals  who  were  so 
loudly  singing  his  praise.  They  were  not  cowards, 
nor  was  he,  but  he  had  had  too  much  experience  with 
such  people  to  be  deluded  into  believing  that,  when  the 
showdown  came,  they  would  think  of  anything  but 
their  own  precious  skins.  He  had  heard  rumors  of  the 
activity  of  the  cattlemen  but  he  discounted  such  ru- 
mors because  of  many  false  alarms  in  the  past.  He 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS      255 

would  not  be  frightened  off;  he  determined  to  remain 
until  there  was  an  actual  clash  of  arms,  in  the  hope 
that  events  would  so  work  out  as  to  allow  him  a  chance 
to  get  back,  and  severely,  at  Wade. 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  rolled  about  the  room,  like 
a  boozy  sailor,  puffing  out  volumes  of  smoke  and 
muttering  beneath  his  breath.  When  he  had  worked 
off  some  of  his  agitation,  the  big  fellow  seated  him- 
self again,  shrugged  his  massive  shoulders,  and  lapsed 
into  an  alcoholic  reverie.  He  was  applying  his  in- 
flamed brain  to  the  problem  of  vengeance,  when  hur- 
ried footsteps  on  the  stairs  aroused  him.  Going  to 
the  door,  he  flung  it  open  and  peered  out  into  the 
dimly  lighted  hallway. 

"Hello,  Jed!"  he  exclaimed,  upon  finding  that  the 
newcomer  was  one  of  his  "heelers."  "What  d'you 
want?  Hie!"  He  straightened  up  with  a  ludicrous 
assumption  of  gravity. 

"The  night  riders!  They've  .  .  ."  The  man  was 
breathless  and  visibly  panic-stricken. 

"Riders?  Hie!  What  riders?"  Moran  growled. 
"Out  with  it,  you  jelly-fish !" 

"The  ranchers — the  cattlemen — they've  entered  the 
town:  they're  on  the  warpath.  Already  a  lot  of  our 
fellows  have  been  shot  up." 

"The  hell  they  have!    How  long  ago?    Where?" 

"Other  end  of  town.  Must  be  two  hundred  or  more. 
I  hustled  down  here  to  put  you  wise  to  the  play." 

"Thanks !"  said  Moran  laconically.  "You're  headed 
in  the  right  direction,  keep  going!" 

But  the  man  lingered,  while  Moran,  as  lightly  as  a 


256  HIDDEN  GOLD 

cat,  despite  his  great  bulk  and  the  liquor  he  carried, 
sprang  to  the  nearest  window.  Far  up  the  street,  he 
could  distinguish  a  huddled  mass,  pierced  by  flashes  of 
fire,  which  he  took  to  be  horsemen;  as  he  watched,  he 
heard  scattered  shots  and  a  faint  sound  of  yelling. 
The  one  hasty  glance  told  him  all  that  he  needed  to 
know;  he  had  not  thought  this  move  would  come  so 
soon,  but  luck  seemed  to  be  against  him  all  around. 
Something  of  a  fatalist,  in  the  final  analysis,  he  no 
longer  wasted  time  in  anger  or  regrets.  He  was  not 
particularly  alarmed,  and  would  not  have  been  so  could 
he  have  known  the  truth,  that  the  yelling  he  had  heard 
marked  the  passing  of  Tug  Bailey,  who  had  confessed 
but  had  made  his  confession  too  late  to  please  the 
crowd,  which  had  him  in  its  power.  Nevertheless, 
Moran  realized  that  there  was  no  time  now  to  form 
his  men  into  anything  like  organized  resistance.  The 
enemy  had  caught  him  napping,  and  the  jig  was  up. 
He  had  seen  the  vigilantes  work  before,  and  he  knew 
that  if  he  intended  to  save  his  own  skin  he  must  act 
quickly.  When  he  turned  from  the  window,  short 
though  the  interval  had  been,  he  had  formed  a  plan 
of  escape. 

"They've  brought  every  man  they  could  rake  up," 
Jed  added.  "I  reckon  they've  combed  every  ranch  in 
the  county  to  start  this  thing." 

Moran  looked  up  quickly,  struck  by  the  significance 
of  the  remark.  If  it  were  true,  and  it  probably  was, 
then  Wade's  ranch  also  would  be  deserted.  He  half 
opened  his  mouth,  as  though  to  confide  in  his  com- 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS      257 

panion,  when  he  evidently  concluded  to  keep  his  own 
counsel. 

"All  right,"  he  said  simply.  "I  guess  there's  still 
plenty  of  time.  I've  got  a  good  horse  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  street.  Take  care  of  yourself.  So  long!" 

The  man  clattered  down  the  stairs,  and  Moran 
turned  to  his  desk,  from  which  he  took  some  papers 
and  a  roll  of  money,  which  he  stuffed  into  his  pockets. 
In  the  hallway  he  paused  for  a  moment  to  examine 
a  wicked  looking  revolver,  which  he  took  from  his 
hip  pocket;  for,  contrary  to  the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try, he  did  not  wear  his  gun  openly  in  a  holster. 
Convinced  that  the  weapon  was  in  good  working  order, 
he  walked  calmly  down  to  the  street,  sobered  com- 
pletely by  this  sudden  call  on  his  reserve  powers. 

His  horse,  a  large,  rawboned  gray,  was  where  he 
had  left  it,  and  shaking  his  fist  in  the  direction  of 
the  vigilantes,  he  mounted  and  rode  off.  He  meant 
to  make  a  wide  detour  and  then  work  back  again  to 
the  Double  Arrow  range.  If  the  ranch  were  really 
deserted,  he  meant  to  fire  the  buildings,  before  attempt- 
ing his  escape.  Such  a  revenge  would  be  a  trifle  com- 
pared to  that  which  he  had  planned,  but  it  would  be 
better  than  nothing,  while  one  more  offense  would  not 
lengthen  his  term  in  jail  any,  if  he  were  caught  after- 
ward. He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  whiskey  flask, 
and  swore  when  he  found  it  missing.  He  wanted  the 
liquor,  but  he  wanted  the  flask  more,  for  its  associa- 
tions ;  he  drew  rein  and  thought  of  returning  to  search 
for  it,  but  realizing  the  folly  of  this,  he  pressed  on 
again. 


258  HIDDEN  GOLD 

The  round-about  way  he  took  was  necessarily  a  long 
one  and  the  ride  entirely  sobered  him,  except  for  a 
crawling  sensation  in  his  brain,  as  though  ants  were 
swarming  there,  which  always  harassed  him  after  a 
debauch.  At  such  times  he  was  more  dangerous  than 
when  under  the  first  influence  of  whiskey.  It  was  close 
upon  noon,  and  the  silvery  sagebrush  was  shimmering 
beneath  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun,  when  he  rode  his 
lathered  horse  out  of  a  cottonwood  grove  to  gaze, 
from  the  edge  of  a  deep  draw,  at  Wade's  ranch  build- 
ings. That  very  morning  a  gaunt,  gray  timber-wolf 
had  peered  forth  at  almost  the  same  point;  and  de- 
spite Moran' s  bulk,  there  was  a  hint  of  a  weird  like- 
ness between  man  and  beast  in  the  furtive  suspicious 
survey  they  made  of  the  premises.  The  wolf  had 
finally  turned  back  toward  the  mountains,  but  Moran 
advanced.  Although  he  was  reasonably  certain  that 
the  place  was  deserted,  a  degree  of  caution,  acquired 
overnight,  led  him  first  to  assure  himself  of  the  fact. 
He  tied  his  horse  to  a  fence  post  and  stealthily  ap- 
proached the  house  to  enter  by  the  back  door. 

Dorothy  was  alone  in  the  building,  for  her  mother 
had  gone  with  the  overly  confident  Barker  to  pick 
blackberries,  and  the  Chinese  cook  was  temporarily 
absent.  The  girl  was  making  a  bed,  when  the  door 
swung  open,  and  she  turned  with  a  bright  greeting, 
thinking  that  her  mother  had  returned.  When  she 
saw  Moran  leering  at  her,  the  color  fled  from  her 
cheeks,  in  a  panic  of  fright  which  left  her  unable  to 
speak  or  move.  She  was  looking  very  pretty  and 
dainty  in  a  cool,  fresh  gown,  which  fitted  her  neatly, 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS   259 

and  her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  over  her  shapely  fore- 
arms, for  the  task  of  housekeeping  which  she  had 
assumed.  In  her  innocent  way,  she  would  have  stirred 
the  sentiment  in  any  man,  and  to  the  inflamed  brute 
before  her  she  seemed  all  the  more  delectable  because 
helpless.  Here  was  a  revenge  beyond  Moran's  wildest 
dreams.  To  her  he  appeared  the  incarnation  of  evil, 
disheveled,  mud-splashed  and  sweaty,  as  his  puffed 
and  blood-shot  eyes  feasted  on  her  attractiveness. 

"Good  morning!"  He  came  into  the  room  and 
closed  the  door.  "I  didn't  expect  to  find  you,  but  since 
you're  here,  I'll  stop  long  enough  to  return  your  visit 
of  the  other  night.  That's  courteous,  ain't  it?" 

Dorothy  gulped  down  the  lump  in  her  throat,  but 
made  no  reply.  Realizing  the  importance  of  a  show 
of  bravery,  she  was  fighting  to  conquer  her  panic. 

"You're  sure  a  good-looking  kid,"  he  went  on,  try- 
ing to  approach  her;  but  she  put  the  width  of  the 
bed  between  him  and  herself.  "Each  time  I  see  you, 
you're  better  looking  than  you  were  the  last  time. 
Say,  that  last  time,  we  were  talking  some  about  a 
kiss,  weren't  we,  when  we  were  interrupted?" 

"Mr.  Wade  may  come  in  at  any  moment,"  Doro- 
thy lied  desperately,  having  found  her  tongue  at  last. 
"You'd  better  not  let- him  find  you  here." 

"I  shouldn't  mind,"  Moran  said  nonchalantly. 
"Fact  is,  on  my  way  out  of  the  country,  I  thought  I'd 
pay  a  farewell  call  on  my  good  friend,  Wade.  I'm 
real  sorry  he  ain't  here — and  then  again  I'm  not.  I'll 
— I'll  leave  my  visiting  card  for  him,  anyhow."  He 
chuckled,  a  nasty,  throaty,  mirthless  chuckle  that  sent 


26o  HIDDEN  GOLD 

chills  up  and  down  the  girl's  spine.  "Say,  what's  the 
matter  with  giving  me  that  kiss  now?  There's  no- 
body around  to  interrupt  us  this  time." 

Dorothy  shuddered,  for  already  she  had  divined 
what  was  in  his  mind.  The  avid  gleam  in  his  eyes 
had  warned  her  that  he  would  not  restrain  himself  for 
long,  and  summoning  all  her  strength  and  courage, 
she  prepared  to  meet  the  fearful  crisis  she  must  face. 

"Will  you  please  go?" 

"No!"  Moran  chuckled  again,  and  stepped  toward 
her.  "Will  you  come  to  me  now,  or  shall  I  go  after 
you?" 

"You  brute!  You  coward!"  she  cried,  when  she 
found  herself,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  held  firmly 
in  his  grasp. 

She  screamed,  then,  at  the  top  of  her  lung  power 
until  his  hand  fell  firmly  across  her  mouth,  and  she 
could  only  struggle  with  the  mad  strength  of  desper- 
ation. Her  muscles  could  offer  him  no  effective  re- 
sistance, although  for  a  moment  the  sudden  fury  of 
her  attack  drove  him  back,  big  though  he  was;  but 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  It  gave  her  a  chance  to 
scream  once  more;  then,  closing  in  upon  her,  he  seized 
her  again  in  his  ape-like  embrace.  She  fought  like 
a  cornered  wild-cat,  but  slowly  and  surely  he  was  bend- 
ing her  to  his  will.  Her  nails  were  leaving  raw  marks 
upon  him,  until  the  blood  ran  down  his  face,  and  pres- 
ently catching  between  her  teeth  one  of  the  fingers 
of  the  hand  which  gagged  her,  she  bit  it  so  fiercely 
that  he  criedf  out.  in  pain. 


BAFFLED,  BUT  STILL  DANGEROUS      261 

"Curse  you,  you  little  she-devil,"  he  grunted  sav- 
agely. "I'll  make  you  pay  twice  for  that!" 

"Gordon !    Oh,  come  to  me !    Quick !    Quick !" 

Quivering  all  over,  she  sank  on  her  knees  before  the 
brute  who  confronted  her,  a  figure  of  distress  that 
must  have  appealed  to  the  heart  of  any  man  above 
the  level  of  a  beast.  But  in  the  heat  of  passion  and 
rage,  Moran  had  lost  kinship  with  even  the  beasts 
themselves.  Lust  burned  in  his  eyes  and  twisted  his 
features  horribly  as  he  seized  her  again,  exhausted  by 
the  brave  struggle  she  had  made,  and  all  but  helpless 
in  his  grasp. 

"Gordon!  Mother!  Barker!  Save  me!  Oh,  my 
God!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    STORM    BURSTS 

THE  vigilantes  had  entered  Crawling  Water  at 
about  ten  o'clock,  when  the  saloons  and  gambling 
joints  were  in  full  swing.  Ribald  songs  and  oaths 
from  the  players,  drinkers,  and  hangers-on  floated 
into  the  street,  with  now  and  then  the  bark  of  a  six- 
shooter  telling  of  drunken  sport  or  bravado.  Few 
people  were  abroad ;  good  citizens  had  retired  to  their 
homes,  and  the  other  half  was  amusing  itself. 

So  it  was,  at  first,  that  few  noticed  the  troop  of 
horsemen  which  swung  in  at  one  end  of  the  town, 
to  ride  slowly  and  silently  down  the  main  street.  Each 
of  the  hundred  men  in  the  troop  carried  a  rifle  bal- 
anced across  his  saddle  pommel;  each  was  dressed  in 
the  garb  of  the  range-rider;  and  the  face  of  each, 
glimpsed  by  the  light  from  some  window  or  doorway, 
was  grimly  stern.  The  sight  was  one  calculated  to 
make  Fear  clutch  like  an  ice-cold  hand  at  the  hearts 
of  those  with  guilty  consciences;  a  spectacle  which 
induced  such  respectable  men  as  saw  it  to  arm  them- 
selves and  fall  in  behind  the  advancing  line.  These 
knew  without  being  told  what  this  noiseless  band  of 
stern-eyed  riders  portended,  and  ever  since  the  com- 
ing of  Moran  into  Crawling  Water  Valley,  they  had 
been  waiting  for  just  this  climax. 

262 


THE  STORM  BURSTS  263 

Before  the  first  of  the  dives,  the  troop  halted  as 
Wade  raised  his  right  arm  high  in  the  air.  Twenty 
of  the  men  dismounted  to  enter  the  glittering  door- 
way, while  the  remainder  of  the  vigilantes  waited 
on  their  horses.  A  few  seconds  after  the  twenty  had 
disappeared,  the  music  of  the  piano  within  abruptly 
ceased.  The  shrill  scream  of  a  frightened  woman 
preceded  a  couple  of  pistol  shots  and  the  sounds  of 
a  scuffle;  then,  profound  silence.  Presently  the  twenty 
reappeared  guarding  a  handful  of  prisoners,  who  were 
disarmed  and  hustled  across  the  street  to  an  empty 
barn,  where  they  were  placed  under  a  guard  of  citizen 
volunteers. 

So  they  proceeded,  stopping  now  and  then  to  gather 
in  more  prisoners,  who  were  in  turn  escorted  to  the 
temporary  jail,  while  the  column  continued  its  re- 
lentless march.  The  system  in  their  attack  seemed  to 
paralyze  the  activities  of  the  Moran  faction  and  its 
sycophants;  there  was  something  almost  awe-inspiring 
in  the  simple  majesty  of  the  thing.  By  now  the  whole 
town  was  aware  of  what  was  taking  place ;  men  were 
scurrying  hither  and  thither,  like  rats  on  a  sinking 
ship.  Occasionally  one,  when  cornered  and  in  des- 
peration, put  up  a  fight ;  but  for  the  most  part,  the  "bad 
men"  were  being  captured  without  bloodshed.  Few 
bad  men  are  so  "bad"  that  they  would  not  rather 
live,  even  in  captivity,  than  come  to  their  full  reward  in 
the  kingdom  of  Satan.  Frightened  and  disorganized, 
the  enemy  seemed  incapable  of  any  concentrated  re-* 
sistance.  As  Santry  succinctly  put  it :  "They've  sure 
lost  their  goat." 


264  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Not  until  the  troop  reached  Monte  Joe's  place,  which 
was  the  most  imposing  of  them  all,  was  real  oppo- 
sition encountered.  Here  a  number  of  the  choicer 
spirits  from  the  Moran  crowd  had  assembled  and  bar- 
ricaded the  building,  spurred  on  by  the  knowledge  that 
a  rope  with  a  running  noose  on  one  end  of  it  would 
probably  be  their  reward  if  captured  alive.  Monte  Joe, 
a  vicious,  brutal  ruffian,  was  himself  in  command  and 
spoke  through  the  slats  of  a  blind,  when  the  vigilantes 
stopped  before  the  darkened  building. 

"What  d'you  want?"  he  hoarsely  demanded. 

"You,  and  those  with  you,"  Wade  curtly  answered. 

The  gambler  peered  down  into  the  street,  his  little 
blood-shot  eyes  blinking  like  a  pig's.  "What  for?" 
he  growled. 

"We'll  show  you  soon  enough,"  came  in  a  rising 
answer  from  the  crowd.  "Open  up!" 

Monte  Joe  withdrew  from  the  window,  feeling  that 
he  was  doomed  to  death,  but  resolved  to  sell  his  life 
dearly.  "Go  to  hell!"  he  shouted. 

Wade  gave  a  few  tersely  worded  orders.  Half  a 
dozen  of  his  men  ran  to  a  nearby  blacksmith  shop  for 
sledge  hammers,  with  which  to  beat  in  the  door  of 
the  gambling  house,  while  the  rest  poured  a  hail  of 
bullets  into  the  windows  of  the  structure.  Under  the 
onslaught  of  the  heavy  hammers,  swung  by  powerful 
arms,  the  door  soon  crashed  inward,  and  the  be- 
siegers poured  through  the  opening.  The  fight  which 
ensued  was  short  and  fierce.  Outnumbered  though 
the  defenders  were,  they  put  up  a  desperate  battle, 
but  they  were  quickly  beaten  down  and  disarmed. 


THE  STORM  BURSTS  265 

Shoved,  dragged,  carried,  some  of  them  cruelly 
wounded  and  a  few  dead  but  all  who  lived  swearing 
horribly,  the  prisoners  were  hustled  to  the  street.  Last 
of  all  came  Monte  Joe,  securely  held  by  two  brawny 
cow-punchers.  At  sight  of  his  mottled,  blood- 
besmeared  visage,  the  crowd  went  wild. 

"Hang  him !  Lynch  the  dirty  brute !  Get  a  rope !" 
The  cry  was  taken  up  by  fifty  voices. 

Hastily  running  the  gambler  beneath  a  convenient 
tree,  they  proceeded  to  adjust  a  noose  about  his  neck. 
In  another  instant  Monte  Joe's  soul  would  have  de- 
parted to  the  Great  Beyond  but  for  a  series  of  inter- 
ruptions. Wade  created  the  first  of  these  by  forcing 
his  big,  black  horse  through  the  throng. 

"Listen,  men!"  he  roared.  "You  must  stop  this! 
This  man — all  of  them — must  have  a  fair  trial." 

"Trial  be  damned !"  shouted  a  bearded  rancher. 
"We've  had  enough  law  in  this  valley.  Now  we're 
after  justice." 

Cheering  him  the  crowd  roared  approbation  of  the 
sentiment,  for  even  the  law-abiding  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  gone  mad  with  blood-lust.  Wade,  his  face 
flushed  with  anger,  was  about  to  reply  to  them  when 
Santry  forced  his  way  to  the  front.  Ever  since  Wade 
had  released  the  old  man  from  jail,  he  had  been  im- 
pressed with  the  thought  that,  no  matter  what  his  own 
views,  gratitude  demanded  that  he  should  instantly 
back  up  his  employer. 

"Justice !"  snapped  the  old  man,  pushing  his  way  into 
the  circle  that  had  formed  around  the  prisoner,  a 
pistol  in  each  hand.  "Who's  talkin'  o'  justice?  Ain't 


266  HIDDEN  GOLD 

me  an'  Wade  been  handed  more  dirt  by  this  bunch  o' 
crooks  than  all  the  rest  o'  you  combined?  Joe's  a 
pizenous  varmint,  but  he's  goin'  to  get  something  he 
never  gave — a  square  deal.  You  hear  me  ?  Any  man 
that  thinks  different  can  settle  the  p'int  with  me!" 

He  glared  at  the  mob,  his  sparse,  grizzled  mustache 
seeming  actually  to  bristle.  By  the  dim  light  of  a 
lantern  held  near  him  his  aspect  was  terrifying.  A 
gash  on  his  forehead  had  streaked  one  side  of  his 
face  with  blood,  while  his  eyes,  beneath  their  shaggy 
thatch  of  brows,  appeared  to  blaze  like  live  coals. 
Involuntarily,  those  nearest  him  shrank  back  a  pace 
but  only  for  a  moment  for  such  a  mob  was  not  to  be 
daunted  by  threats.  A  low  murmur  of  disapproval 
•was  rapidly  swelling  into  a  growl  of  anger,  when 
Sheriff  Thomas  appeared. 

"Gentlemen!"'  he  shouted,  springing  upon  a  con- 
venient box.  "The  law  must  be  respected,  and  as  its 
representative  in  this  community  .  .  ." 

"Beat  it,  you  old  turkey  buzzard!"  cried  an  irate 
puncher,  wildly  brandishing  a  brace  of  Colts  before  the 
officer.  "To  hell  with  the  law  and  you,  too.  You 
ain't  rep'sentative  of  nothin'  in  this  community!" 

"Men!"  Wade  began  again. 

"String  the  Sheriff  up,  too,"  somebody  yelled. 

"By  right  of  this  star.  .  .  ."  Thomas  tapped  the 
badge  on  his  vest.  "I  am  .  .  ." 

"Pull  on  the  rope!"  cried  the  bearded  rancher,  and 
"his  order  would  have  been  executed  but  for  Wade's 
detaining  hand. 

"I'm   Sheriff  here."     Thomas  was  still  trying  to 


THE  STORM  BURSTS  267 

make  himself  heard,  never  noticing  three  men,  who 
were  rolling  in  behind  him  a  barrel,  which  they  had 
taken  from  a  nearby  store.  "I  demand  that  the  law 
be  respected,  and  that  I  be  permitted  to — to  .  .  ."  He 
stopped  to  sneeze  and  sputter,  for  having  knocked  in 
the  top  of  the  barrel,  which  contained  flour,  the  three 
men  had  emptied  its  contents  over  the  officer's  head. 

His  appearance  as  he  tried  to  shake  himself  free 
of  the  sticky  stuff,  which  coated  him  from  head  to 
foot,  was  so  ludicrous  that  a  roar  of  laughter  went 
up  from  the  mob.  It  was  the  salvation  of  Monte  Joe, 
for  Wade,  laughing  himself,  took  advantage  of  the 
general  merriment  to  urge  his  plea  again  in  the  gam- 
bler's behalf.  This  time  the  mob  listened  to  him. 

"All  right,  Wade,"  a  man  cried.  "Do  as  you  like 
with  the  cuss.  This  is  mostly  your  funeral,  any- 
how." 

"Yes,  let  the go,"  called  out  a  dozen  voices. 

By  this  time  the  close  formation  of  the  vigilantes 
was  broken.  From  time  to  time,  men  had  left  the 
ranks  in  pursuit  of  skulkers,  and  finding  the  way  back 
blocked  by  the  crowd,  had  taken  their  own  initiative 
thereafter.  Wade  and  Santry  could  not  be  every- 
where at  once,  and  so  it  happened  that  Lem  Trow- 
bridge  was  the  only  one  of  the  leaders  to  be  present 
when  Tug  Bailey  was  taken  out  of  the  jail.  Trow- 
bridge  had  not  Wade's  quiet  air  of  authority,  and 
besides,  he  had  allowed  his  own  blood  to  be  fired  by 
the  "clean  up."  He  might  have  attempted  to  save 
the  murderer  had  time  offered,  but  when  the  confes- 
sion was  wrung  from  him,  the  mob,  cheated  of  one 


268  HIDDEN  GOLD 

lynching,  opened  fire  upon  him  as  by  a  common  im- 
pulse. In  the  batting  of  an  eyelash,  Bailey  fell  in  a 
crumpled  heap,  his  body  riddled  by  bullets. 

Meanwhile,  Wade  and  Santry  were  searching  for 
the  chief  cause  of  all  their  trouble,  Race  Moran.  They 
were  not  surprised  to  find  his  office  vacant,  but  as 
the  night  wore  on  and  the  saffron  hues  of  dawn  ap- 
peared in  the  sky,  and  still  he  was  not  found,  they 
became  anxious.  Half  of  the  gratification  of  their 
efforts  would  be  gone,  unless  the  agent  was  made  to 
pay  the  penalty  of  his  crimes.  Wade  inquired  of  the 
men  he  met,  and  they  too  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
wily  agent.  The  search  carried  them  to  the  further 
end  of  the  town  without  result,  when  Wade  turned 
to  Santry. 

"Hunt  up  Lem  and  see  if  he  knows  anything,"  he 
said.  "I'll  meet  you  in  front  of  the  hotel.  I'm  going 
to  ride  out  and  see  if  I  can  dig  up  any  news  on  the 
edge  of  town.  Moran  may  have  made  a  get-away." 

With  a  nod,  Santry  whirled  his  horse  and  dashed 
away,  and  Wade  rode  forward  toward  an  approach- 
ing resident,  evidently  of  faint  heart,  who  meant,  so 
it  seemed,  to  be  in  for  the  "cakes"  even  though  he  had 
missed  the  "roast."  A  little  contemptuously,  the  ranch- 
man put  his  question. 

"Yes,  I  seen  him;  leastwise,  I  think  so,"  the  man 
answered.  "He  went  past  my  house  when  the  shootin' 
first  started.  How  are  the  boys  makin'  out?" 

"Which  way  did  he  go?"  the  cattleman  demanded, 
ignoring  the  other's  question.  The  resident  pointed 
in  the  direction  taken  by  Moran.  "Are  you  sure?" 


THE  STORM  BURSTS  269 

was  him,  I  am,  and  I  think  it  was." 
Wade  rode  slowly  forward  in  the  indicated  direc- 
tion, puzzled  somewhat,  for  it  led  away  from  Sheri- 
dan, which  should  have  been  the  agent's  logical  ob- 
jective point.  But  a  few  moments'  consideration  of 
the  situation  made  him  think  that  the  route  was  prob- 
ably chosen  for  strategic  reasons.  Very  likely  Moran 
had  found  his  escape  at  the  other  end  of  the  town 
blocked,  and  he  meant  to  work  to  some  distant  point 
along  the  railroad.  Wade  drew  rein,  with  the  idea 
of  bringing  his  friends  also  to  the  pursuit,  but  from 
what  his  informant  had  told  him  Moran  already  had 
a  long  start  and  there  was  no  time  to  waste  in  sum- 
moning assistance.  Besides,  if  it  were  still  possible 
to  overtake  the  quarry,  the  ranchman  preferred  to 
settle  his  difference  with  him,  face  to  face,  and  alone. 
He  urged  his  horse  into  a  lope,  and  a  little  beyond 
the  town  dismounted  to  pick  up  the  trail  of  the  fugi- 
tive, if  it  could  be  found.  Thanks  to  a  recent  shower, 
the  ground  was  still  soft,  and  the  cattleman  soon  picked 
up  the  trail  of  a  shod  horse,  leading  away  from  the 
road  and  out  upon  the  turf.  By  the  growing  light,  he 
was  able  to  follow  this  at  a  fairly  rapid  pace,  and  as 
he  pressed  on  the  reflection  came  to  him  that  if  the 
agent  continued  as  he  was  now  headed,  he  could  hot>e 
to  come  out  eventually  upon  the  Burlington  Railroad. 
a  full  seventy  miles  from  Sheridan.  The  pursuit  was 
likely  to  be  a  long  one,  in  this  event,  and  Wade  was 
regretting  that  he  had  not  left  some  word  to  explain 
his  absence,  when  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  lost  the  trail. 


270  HIDDEN  GOLD 

With  an  exclamation  of  annoyance,  he  rode  back 
a  hundred  yards  or  so,  until  he  picked  up  the  tracks 
again,  when  he  found  that  they  turned  sharply  to 
the  right,  altogether  away  from  the  railroad.  Puz- 
zled again,  he  followed  it  for  half  a  mile,  unt;l  con- 
vinced that  Moran  had  deliberately  circled  Crawling 
Water.  But  why?  What  reason  could  the  man  have 
which,  in  a  moment  of  desperate  danger  to  himself, 
would  lead  him  to  delay  his  escape?  What  further 
deviltry  could  he  have  on  foot?  There  was  nothing 
to  lead  him  in  the  direction  he  was  now  traveling,  un- 
less .  .  .  !  Wade's  heart  suddenly  skipped  a  beat 
and  beads  of  cold  sweat  bedewed  his  forehead,  for 
Dorothy  Purnell  and  her  mother  had  come  into  his 
mind.  There  was  nothing  ahead  of  Moran  but  the 
Double  Arrow  ranch!  If  that  were  the  agent's  ob- 
jective point,  there  would  be  nothing  between  him 
and  the  women  save  Barker,  and  the  "drop"  of  a 
gun  might  settle  that! 

Never  had  the  big  black  horse  been  spurred  as 
cruelly  as  he  was  then,  when  Wade  plunged  his  heels 
into  his  flanks.  With  a  snort  the  horse  bolted  and 
then  settled  into  his  stride  until  the  gentle  breeze  in 
the  rider's  face  became  a  rushing  gale.  But  the  pain 
which  the  animal  had  felt  was  nothing  to  the  fear 
which  tugsred  at  the  ranchman's  heartstrings,  as  he 
reproached  himself  bitterly  for  having  left  only  one 
man  at  the  ranch,  although  at  the  time  the  thought 
of  peril  to  the  women  had  never  occurred  to  him. 
With  the  start  that  Moran  had,  Wade  reasoned  that 
he  stood  small  chance  of  arriving  in  time  to  do  any 


THE  STORM  BURSTS  271 

good.     He  could  only  count  upon  the  watchfulness 
and  skill  of  Barker  to  protect  them. 

Failing  that,  there  was  but  one  hope,  that  the  rider 
who  had  gone  on  ahead  might  not  be  Moran  after 
all.  But  presently  all  doubt  of  the  man's  identity  was 
removed  from  the  ranchman's  mind,  for  on  the  soggy 
turf  ahead  his  quick  eyes  caught  the  glitter  of  some- 
thing bright.  Sweeping  down  from  his  saddle,  he 
picked  it  up  without  stopping,  and  found  that  it  was 
a  half  emptied  whiskey  flask.  Turning  it  over  in  his 
hand,  he  read  the  inscription  :  "To  Race  Moran  from 
his  friends  of  the  Murray  Hill  Club." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WITH    BARE   HANDS  AT   LAST 

IN  after  years,  when  Wade  tried  to  recall  that  mad 
ride,  he  found  it  only  a  vague  blur  upon  his  mem- 
ory. He  was  conscious  only  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
traveled  at  a  speed  which,  in  saner  moments,  he  would 
have  considered  suicidal.  Urging  the  big  black  over 
the  rougher  ground  of  the  higher  levels,  he  rode  like 
a  maniac,  without  regard  for  his  own  life  and  with- 
out mercy  for  the  magnificent  horse  beneath  him. 
Time  and  again  the  gelding  stumbled  on  the  rocky 
footing  and  almost  fell,  only  to  be  urged  to  further 
efforts  by  his  rider. 

Five  miles  out  of  Crawling  Water,  the  cattleman 
thought  of  a  short-cut,  through  a  little  used  timber- 
trail,  which  would  save  him  several  miles;  but  it  was 
crossed  by  a  ravine  cut  by  a  winter  avalanche  like 
the  slash  of  a  gigantic  knife.  To  descend  into  this 
ravine  and  ascend  on  the  farther  side  would  be  a 
tortuous  process,  which  would  take  more  time  than 
to  continue  by  the  longer  route.  But  if  the  gelding 
could  jump  the  narrow  cleft  in  the  trail,  the  distance 
saved  might  decide  the  issue  with  Moran.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  the  leap  of  the  horse  was  short,  prac- 
tically certain  death  must  befall  both  animal  and 
rider. 

272 


WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST        273 

Wade  decided,  in  his  reckless  mood,  that  the  chance 
was  worth  taking  and  he  rode  the  black  to  the  edge 
of  the  cleft,  where  trembling  with  nervousness,  the 
animal  refused  the  leap.  Cursing  furiously,  Wade 
drove  him  at  it  again,  and  again  the  gelding  balked. 
But  at  the  third  try  he  rose  to  the  prick  of  the  spurs 
and  took  the  jump.  The  horse's  forelegs  caught  in 
perilous  footing  and  the  struggling,  slipping  animal 
snorted  in  terror,  but  the  ranchman  had  allowed  the 
impulse  of  the  leap  to  carry  him  clear  of  his  saddle. 
Quickly  twisting  the  bridle  reins  around  one  wrist,  he 
seized  the  horse's  mane  with  his  free  hand,  and  helped 
by  the  violent  efforts  the  animal  made,  succeeded  in 
pulling  him  up  to  a  firmer  footing.  For  some  min- 
utes afterward  he  had  to  soothe  the  splendid  brute, 
patting  him  and  rubbing  his  trembling  legs ;  then,  with 
a  grim  expression  of  triumph  on  his  face,  he  resumed 
his  journey.  The  chance  had  won! 

There  was  less  likelihood  now  that  he  would  be 
too  late,  although  ihe  thought  that  he  might  be  so 
still  made  him  urge  the  horse  to  the  limit  of  his  speed. 
He  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  a  notch  in  the  hills, 
which  marked  the  location  of  the  ranch.  He  rode  out 
on  the  clearing  which  held  the  house  just  in  time  to 
hear  Dorothy's  second  scream,  and  plunged  out  of 
his  saddle,  pulling  his  rifle  from  the  scabbard  beneath 
his  right  leg  as  he  did  so.  From  the  kitchen  chimney 
a  faint  wisp  of  smoke  curled  upward  through  the 
still  air;  a  rooster  crowed  loudly  behind  the  barn  and 
a  colt  nickered  in  the  corral.  Everywhere  was  the 
atmosphere  of  peace,  save  for  that  scream  followed 


274  HIDDEN  GOLD 

now  by  another  choking  cry,  and  a  barking  collie, 
which  danced  about  before  the  closed  door  of  the 
house  in  the  stiff-legged  manner  of  his  breed,  when 
excited. 

Wade  burst  into  the  house  like  a  madman  and  on 
into  the  back  room,  where  Moran,  his  face  horribly 
distorted  by  passion,  was  forcing  the  girl  slowly  to 
the  floor.  But  for  the  protection  which  her  supple 
body  afforded  him,  the  ranchman  would  have  shot  him 
in  his  tracks. 

"Gordon!"  The  overwhelming  relief  in  her  face, 
burned  into  Wade's  soul  like  a  branding-iron.  "Don't 
shoot!  Oh,  thank  God!"  She  fell  Dack  against  the 
wall,  as  Moran  released  her,  and  began  to  cry  softly 
and  brokenly. 

Snarling  with  baffled  rage  and  desire.  Moran  whirled 
to  meet  the  cattleman.  His  hand  darted,  with  the 
swift  drop  of  the  practised  gun  man,  toward  his  hip 
pocket;  but  too  late,  for  he  was  already  covered  by 
the  short-barreled  rifle  in  Wade's  hands.  More  men- 
acing even  than  the  yawning  muzzle  xvas  the  expres- 
sion of  terrible  fury  in  the  ranchman's  face.  For  a 
space  of  almost  a  minute,  broken  only  by  the  tense 
breathing  of  the  two  men  and  a  strangled  sob  from 
Dorothy,  Moran's  fate  hung  on  the  movement  of  an 
eyelash.  Then  Wade  slowly  relaxed  the  tension  of 
his  trigger  finger.  Shooting  would  be  too  quick  to 
satisfy  him! 

Moran  breathed  more  freely  at  this  sign,  for  he 
knew  that  he  had  been  nearer  death  than  ever  before 
in  all  his  adventurous  life,  and  the  sway  of  his  pas- 


WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST        275 

sion  had  weakened  his  nervous  control.  Courage  came 
back  to  him  rapidly,  for  with  all  his  faults  he  was, 
physically  at  least,  no  coward.  He  took  hope  from 
his  belief  that  Wade  would  not  now  shoot  him  down. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  pull  that  trigger?"  His  tone 
was  almost  as  cool  as  though  he  had  asked  a  common- 
place question. 

"I've  heard,"  said  Wade  slowly,  "that  you  call 
yourself  a  good  rough-and-tumble  fighter ;  that  you've 
never  met  your  match.  I  want  to  get  my — hands — 
on  you !" 

Moran's  features  relaxed  into  a  grin;  it  seemed 
strange  to  him  that  any  man  could  be  such  a  fool.  It 
was  true  that  he  had  never  met  his  match  in  rough 
fighting,  and  he  did  not  expect  to  meet  it  now. 

"You're  a  bigger  man  than  I  am,"  the  cattleman 
went  on.  "I'll  take  a  chance  on  you  being  a  better 
one.  I  believe  that  I  can  break  you  with  my — hands — 
like  the  rotten  thing  you  are."  He  paid  no  heed  to 
Dorothy's  tearful  protests.  "Will  you  meet  me  in 
a  fair  fight?"  Wade's  face  suddenly  contorted  with 
fury.  "If  you  won't  .  .  ."  His  grip  on  the  rifle 
tightened  significantly. 

"No,  Gordon,  no!  Oh,  please,  not  that!"  the  girl 
pleaded. 

"Sure,  I'll  fight,"  Moran  answered,  a  gleam  of  joy 
in  his  eyes.  He  gloried  in  the  tremendous  strength 
of  a  body  which  had  brought  him  victory  in  half  a 
hundred  barroom  combats.  He  felt  that  no  one  lived, 
outside  the  prize-ring,  who  could  beat  him  on  an  even 
footing. 


276  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"Take  his  gun  away  from  him,"  Wade  told  Doro- 
thy. "It's  the  second  time  you've  disarmed  him,  but 
it'll  be  the  last.  He'll  never  carry  a  gun  again.  Take 
it!"  he  repeated,  commandingly,  and  when  she  obeyed, 
added:  "Toss  it  on  the  bed."  He  stood  his  rifle  in  a 
corner  near  the  door. 

"You're  a  fool,  Wade,"  Moran  taunted  as  they  came 
together.  "I'm  going  to  kill  you  first  and  then  I'll 
take  my  will  of  her."  But  nothing  he  could  say  could 
add  to  Wade's  fury,  already  at  its  coldest,  most  deadly 
point. 

He  answered  by  a  jab  at  the  big  man's  mouth,  which 
Moran  cleverly  ducked;  for  so  heavy  a  man,  he  was 
wonderfully  quick  on  his  feet.  He  ducked  and  par- 
ried three  other  such  vicious  leads,  when,  by  a  clever 
feint,  Wade  drew  an  opening  and  succeeded  in  land- 
ing his  right  fist,  hard  as  a  bag  of  stones,  full  in  the 
pit  of  his  adversary's  stomach.  It  was  an  awful  blow, 
one  that  would  have  killed  a  smaller  man ;  but  Moran 
merely  grunted  and  broke  ground  for  an  instant. 
Then  he  landed  a  swinging  left  on  the  side  of  Wade's 
head  which  opened  a  cut  over  his  ear  and  nearly 
floored  him. 

Back  and  forth  across  the  little  room  they  fought, 
with  little  advantage  either  way,  while  Dorothy 
watched  them  breathlessly.  Like  gladiators  they  cir- 
cled each  other,  coming  together  at  intervals  with 
the  shock  of  two  enraged  bulls.  Both  were  soon  bleed- 
ing from  small  cuts  on  the  head  and  face,  but  neither 
was  aware  of  the  fact.  Occasionally  they  collided 
with  articles  of  furniture,  which  were  overturned  and 


WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST        277 

swept  aside  almost  unnoticed;  while  Dorothy  was 
forced  to  step  quickly  from  one  point  to  another  to 
keep  clear  of  them.  Several  times  Wade  told  her  to 
leave  the  room,  but  she  would  not  go. 

Finally  the  ranchman's  superior  condition  began  to 
tell  in  his  favor.  At  the  end  of  ten  minutes'  fight- 
ing, the  agent's  breathing  became  labored  and  his 
movements  slower.  Wade,  still  darting  about  quickly 
and  lightly,  had  no  longer  much  difficulty  in  punish- 
ing the  brutal,  leering  face  before  him.  Time  after 
time  he  drove  his  fists  mercilessly  into  Moran's  fea- 
tures until  they  lost  the  appearance  of  anything  human 
and  began  to  resemble  raw  meat. 

But  suddenly,  in  attempting  to  sidestep  one  of  his 
opponent's  bull-like  rushes,  the  cattleman  slipped  in. 
a  puddle  of  blood  and  half  fell,  and  before  he  could 
regain  his  footing  Moran  had  seized  him.  Then 
Wade  learned  how  the  big  man's  reputation  for  tre- 
mendous strength  had  been  won.  Cruelly,  implacably, 
those  great,  ape-like  arms  entwined  about  the  ranch- 
man's body  until  the  very  breath  was  crushed  out 
of  it.  Resorting  to  every  trick  he  knew,  he  strove 
desperately  to  free  himself,  but  all  the  strength  in 
his  own  muscular  body  was  powerless  to  break  the 
other's  hold.  With  a  crash  that  shook  the  house  to 
its  foundation,  they  fell  to  the  floor,  and  by  a  lucky 
twist  Wade  managed  to  fall  on  top. 

The  force  of  the  fall  had  shaken  Moran  somewhat, 
and  the  cattleman,  by  calling  on  the  whole  of  his 
strength,  succeeded  in  tearing  his  arms  free.  Plung- 
ing his  fingers  into  the  thick,  mottled  throat,  he 


278  HIDDEN  GOLD 

squeezed  steadily  until  Moran's  struggles  grew  weaker 
and  weaker.  Finally  they  ceased  entirely  and  the  huge, 
heavy  body  lay  still. 

Wade  stumbled  to  his  feet  and  staggered  across  the 
room. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  thickly,  and  added  at  sight 
of  Dorothy's  wide,  terror-stricken  eyes:  "Frightened 
you,  didn't  we?  Guess  I  should  have  shot  him  and 
made  a  clean  job  of  it;  but  I  couldn't,  somehow." 

"Oh,  he's  hurt  you  terribly!"  the  girl  cried,  burst- 
ing into  fresh  tears. 

Wade  laughed  and  tenderly  put  his  arms  around 
her,  for  weak  though  he  was  and  with  nerves  twitch- 
ing like  those  of  a  recently  sobered  drunkard,  he  was 
not  too  weak  or  sick  to  enjoy  the  privilege  of  sooth- 
ing her.  The  feel  of  her  in  his  arms  was  wonderful 
happiness  to  him  and  her  tears  for  him  seemed  far 
more  precious  than  all  the  gold  on  his  land.  He  had 
just  lifted  her  up  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window, 
thinking  that  the  fresh  air  might  steady  her,  when 
she  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  Moran,  who  had 
regained  consciousness,  in  the  act  of  reaching  for  his 
revolver,  which  lay  on  the  bed  where  she  had  tossed  it. 

"Oh,  see  what  he's  doing!    Look  out!" 

Her  cry  of  warning  came  just  too  late.  There  was 
a  flash  and  roar,  and  a  hot  flame  seemed  to  pass 
through  Wade's  body.  Half  turning  about,  he 
clutched  at  the  air,  and  then  pitched  forward  to  the 
floor,  where  he  lay  still.  Flourishing  the  gun,  Moran 
got  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and  turned  a  ghastly,  dappled 
visage  to  the  girl,  who,  stunned  and  helpless,  was  gaz- 


WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST         279. 

ing  at  him  in  wide-eyed  horror.  But  she  had  nothing- 
more  to  fear  from  him,  for  now  that  he  believed  Wade 
dead,  the  agent  was  too  overshadowed  by  his  crime 
to  think  of  perpetrating  another  and  worse  one.  He 
had  already  wasted  too  much  valuable  time.  He  must 
get  away. 

"I  got  him,"  he  croaked,  in  a  terrible  voice.  "I  got 
him  like  I  said  I  would,  damn  him !"  With  a  blood- 
curdling attempt  at  a  laugh,  he  staggered  out  of  the 
house  into  the  sunshine. 

For  a  moment  Dorothy  stared  woodenly  through  the 
empty  doorway;  then,  with  a  choking  sob,  she  bent 
over  the  man  at  her  feet.  She  shook  him  gently  and 
begged  him  to  speak  to  her,  but  she  could  get  no 
response  and  under  her  exploring  fingers  his  heart 
apparently  had  ceased  to  beat.  For  a  few  seconds  she 
stared  at  the  widening  patch  of  red  on  his  torn  shirt ; 
then  her  gaze  shifted  and  focused  on  the  rifle  in  the 
corner  by  the  door.  As  she  looked  at  the  weapon  her 
wide,  fear-struck  eyes  narrowed  and  hardened  with  a. 
sudden  resolve.  Seizing  the  gun,  she  cocked  it  and 
stepped  into  the  doorway. 

Moran  was  walking  unsteadily  toward  the  place 
where  he  had  tied  his  horse.  He  was  tacking  from 
side  to  side  like  a  drunken  man,  waving  his  arms 
about  and  talking  to  himself.  Bringing  the  rifle  to 
her  shoulder,  Dorothy  steadied  herself  against  the 
door-frame  and  took  long,  careful  aim.  As  she  sighted 
the  weapon  her  usually  pretty  face,  now  scratched  and 
streaked  with  blood  from  her  struggles  with  the  agent, 
wore  the  expression  of  one  who  has  seen  all  that  is 


280  HIDDEN  GOLD 

dear  in  life  slip  away  from  her.  At  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  rifle  Moran  stopped  short  and  a  convulsive 
shudder  racked  his  big  body  from  head  to  foot.  After 
a  single  step  forward  he  crumpled  up  on  the  ground. 
For  several  moments  his  arms  and  legs  twitched  spas- 
modically; then  he  lay  still. 

Horrified  by  what  she  had  done,  now  that  it  was 
accomplished  Dorothy  stepped  backward  into  the  house 
and  stood  the  rifle  in  its  former  position  near  the  door, 
when  a  low  moan  from  behind  made  her  turn  hur- 
riedly. Wade  was  not  dead  then!  She  hastily  tore 
his  shirt  from  over  the  wound,  her  lips  twisted  in  a 
low  cry  of  pity  as  she  did  so.  To  her  tender  gaze, 
the  hurt  seemed  a  frightful  one.  Dreading  lest  he 
should  regain  consciousness  and  find  himself  alone,  she 
decided  to  remain  with  him,  instead  of  going  for  the 
help  she  craved;  most  likely  she  would  be  unable  to 
find  her  mother  and  Barker,  anyway.  She  stopped  the 
flow  of  blood  as  best  she  could  and  put  a  pillow  under 
the  ranchman's  head,  kissing  him  afterward.  Then  for 
an  interval  she  sat  still.  She  never  knew  for  how  long. 

Santry  reached  the  house  just  as  Mrs.  Purnell  and 
Barker  returned  with  their  berries,  and  the  three  found 
the  girl  bathing  the  wounded  man's  face,  and  crying 
over  him. 

"Boy,  boy!"  Santry  sobbed,  dropping  on  his  knees 
before  the  unconscious  figure.  "Who  done  this  to 
you?" 

Dorothy  weepingly  explained,  and  when  she  told  of 
her  own  part  in  shooting  Moran  the  old  fellow  patted 
her  approvingly  on  the  back.  "Good  girl,"  he  said 


WITH  BARE  HANDS  AT  LAST         281 

hoarsely.  "But  I  wish  that  job  had  been  left  for 
me." 

"Merciful  Heavens!"  cried  Mrs.  Purnell.  "I  shall 
never  get  over  this."  With  trembling  hands  she  took 
the  basin  and  towel  from  her  daughter  and  set  them 
one  side,  then  she  gently  urged  the  girl  to  her  feet. 

"You!"  said  Santry,  so  ferociously  to  Barker  that 
the  man  winced  in  spite  of  himself.  "Help  me  to  lay 
him  on  the  bed,  so's  to  do  it  gentle-like." 

Dorothy,  who  felt  certain  that  Wade  was  mortally 
hurt,  struggled  desperately  against  the  feeling  of  faint- 
ness  which  was  creeping  over  her.  She  caught  at  a 
chair  for  support,  and  her  mother  caught  her  in  her 
arms. 

"My  poor  dear,  you're  worn  out.  Go  lie  down. 
Oh,  when  I  think  ...  !" 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  mother!"  Dorothy  waved  her 
back,  for  the  presence  close  to  her  of  another  person 
could  only  mean  her  collapse.  "I'm  all  right.  I'm  of 
no  consequence  now.  He  needs  a  doctor,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Santry,  who  stood  near  the  bed  bowed  with 
grief.  He,  too,  thought  that  Wade  would  never  be 
himself  again. 

"I'll  go,"  said  Barker,  eager  to  do  something  to 
atone  for  his  absence  at  the  critical  moment,  but 
Santry  rounded  upon  him  in  a  rage. 

"You — you  skunk !"  he  snarled,  and  gestured  fiercely 
toward  the  bed.  "He  left  you  here  to  look  after  things 
and  you — you  went  berry  pickin'!"  Barker  seemed  so 
crushed  by  the  scorn  in  the  old  man's  words  that  Doro- 
thy's sympathy  was  stirred. 


282  HIDDEN  GOLD 

"It  wasn't  Barker's  fault,"  she  said  quickly.  "There 
seemed  to  be  no  danger.  Gordon  said  so  himself.  But 
one  of  you  go,  immediately,  for  the  doctor." 

"I'll  go,"  Santry  responded  and  hurried  from  the 
room,  followed  by  Barker,  thoroughly  wretched. 

Dorothy  went  to  the  bedside  and  looked  down  into 
Wade's  white  face;  then  she  knelt  there  on  the  floor 
and  said  a  little  prayer  to  the  God  of  all  men  to  be 
merciful  to  hers. 

"Maybe  if  I  made  you  a  cup  of  tea?"  Mrs.  Purnell 
anxiously  suggested,  but  the  girl  shook  her  head  list- 
lessly. Tea  was  the  elder  woman's  panacea  for  all 
ills. 

"Don't  bother  me,  mother,  please.  I — I've  just  been 
through  a  good  deal.  I  can't  talk — really,  I  can't." 

Mrs.  Purnell,  subsiding  at  last,  thereafter  held  her 
peace,  and  Dorothy  sat  down  by  the  bed  to  be  instantly 
ready  to  do  anything  that  could  be  done.  She  had  sat 
thus,  almost  without  stirring,  for  nearly  an  hour,  when 
Wade  moved  slightly  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it  ?"  She  bent  over  him  instantly,  forget- 
ting everything  except  that  he  was  awake  and  that  he 
seemed  to  know  her. 

"Is  it  you,  Dorothy?"  He  groped  weakly  for  her 
fingers. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  gulping  back  the  sob  in 
lier  throat.  "Is  there  anything  you  want  ?  What  can 
I  do  for  you?" 

He  smiled  feebly  and  shook  his  head. 

"It's  all  right,  if  it's  you,"  he  said  faintly,  after  a 
moment.  "You're  all  right — always!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CHURCH-GOING   CLOTHES 

AFTER  his  few  words  to  Dorothy  the  wounded  man 
lapsed  again  into  coma,  in  which  condition  he  was 
found  by  the  physician,  who  returned  with  Santry 
from  Crawling  Water.  During  the  long  intervening 
time  the  girl  had  not  moved  from  the  bedside,  though 
the  strain  of  her  own  terrible  experience  with  Moran 
was  making  itself  felt  in  exhaustive  fatigue. 

"Go  and  rest  yourself,"  Santry  urged.  "It's  my  turn 
now." 

"I'm  not  tired,"  she  declared,  trying  to  smile  into 
the  keen  eyes  of  the  doctor,  who  had  heard  the  facts 
from  the  old  plainsman  as  they  rode  out  from  town. 

Wade  lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  apparently  in  pro- 
found stupor,  but  gave  signs  of  consciousness  when 
Dr.  Catlin  gently  shook  him.  Dorothy  felt  that  he 
should  not  be  disturbed,  although  she  kept  her  own 
counsel,  but  Catlin  wanted  to  see  if  he  could  arouse 
his  patient  at  all,  for  the  extent  of  the  injury  caused 
by  the  bullet,  which  had  entered  the  back  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  spinal  cord,  could  be  gauged  largely  by  the 
amount  of  sensibility  remaining.  The  wounded  man 
was  finally  induced  to  answer  monosyllabically  the 
questions  put  to  him,  but  he  did  so  with  surly  impa- 
tience. The  physician  next  made  a  thorough  exami- 

283 


284  HIDDEN  GOLD 

nation,  for  which  he  was  better  fitted  than  many  a 
fashionable  city  practitioner,  by  reason  of  his  famil- 
iarity with  wounds  of  all  kinds. 

When  he  arose  Santry,  who  had  watched  him  as  a 
cat  watches  a  mouse,  forced  himself  to  speak,  for  his 
throat  and  mouth  were  dry  as  a  bone. 

"Well,  Doc,  how  about  it?" 

"Oh,  he  won't  die  this  time;  but  he  may  lie  there 
for  some  weeks.  So  far  as  I  can  tell  the  bullet  just 
grazed  the  spinal  cord,  and  it's  the  shock  of  that 
which  makes  him  so  quiet  now.  A  fraction  of  an  inch 
closer  and  he  would  have  died  or  been  paralyzed,  a 
cripple,  probably  for  life.  At  is  it,  howeyer,  barring 
the  possibility  of  infection,  he  should  pull  through. 
The  bullet  passed  straight  through  the  body  without 
injury  to  any  vital  organ,  and  there  is  no  indication 
of  severe  internal  hemorrhage." 

Santry  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue  and  shook 
his  head  heavily. 

"What  gets  me,"  he  burst  out,  "is  that  Gawd 
A'mighty  could  'a'  let  a  skunk  like  Moran  do  a  thing 
like  that !  And  then" — his  voice  swelled  as  though  the 
words  he  was  about  to  utter  exceeded  the  first — "and 
then  let  the  varmint  get  away  from  me!" 

Dr.  Catlin  nodded  sympathy  with  the  statement  and 
turned  to  Dorothy.  She  had  been  anxiously  searching 
his  face  to  discover  if  he  were  encouraging  them  un- 
duly, and  when  she  felt  that  he  was  not  stretching 
the  facts  a  tremendous  weight  was  lifted  from  her 
mind. 

"You  are  going  to  stay  here?"  he  asked. 


CHURCH-GOIKG  CLOTHES  285 

"Yes;  oh,  yes!"  she  answered. 

"That's  good."  He  opened  his  medicine  case  and 
mixed  a  simple  antipyretic.  "I'll  explain  what  you're 
to  do  then.  After  that  you  better  lay  down  and  try 
to  sleep.  Wade  won't  need  much  for  some  days, 
except  good  nursing." 

"I'm  not  tired,"  she  insisted,  at  which  he  smiled 
shrewdly. 

"I'm  not  asking  you  if  you're  tired.  I'm  telling  you 
that  you  are.  Those  nerves  of  yours  are  jumping 
now.  You've  got  our  patient  to  consider  first,  and 
you  can't  look  after  him  unless  you  keep  well  your- 
self. I'm  going  to  mix  something  up  for  you  in  a 
few  minutes  and  then  you're  going  to  rest.  A  nurse 
must  obey  orders." 

He  explained  to  her  what  she  was  to  do  for  the 
patient  and  then  gave  her  something  to  offset  the 
effects  of  her  own  nervous  shock.  Then  counseling 
them  not  to  worry  too  much,  for  there  would  be  no 
fatal  result  if  his  directions  were  followed,  the  physi- 
cian mounted  his  horse  and  rode  back  to  town.  Such 
journeys  were  all  in  the  day's  work  to  him,  and  poor 
pay  they  often  brought  him,  except  as  love  of  his 
fellow-men  rewarded  his  spirit. 

During  the  long  days  and  nights  that  followed  Doro- 
thy scarcely  left  Wade's  bedside,  for  to  her  mother 
now  fell  the  burdens  of  the  ranch  household.  From 
feeling  that  she  never  would  be  equal  to  the  task  of 
caring  for  so  many  people,  Mrs.  Purnell  came  to  find 
her  health  greatly  improved  by  her  duties,  which  left 
her  no  opportunity  for  morbid  introspection. 


286  HIDDEN  GOLD 

Santry,  too,  was  in  almost  constant  attendance  upon 
the  sick  man,  and  was  as  tender  and  solicitous  in  his 
ministrations  as  Dorothy  herself.  He  ate  little  and 
slept  less,  relieving  his  feelings  by  oaths  whispered 
into  his  mustache.  He  made  the  ranch  hands  move 
about  their  various  duties  as  quietly  as  mice.  Doro- 
thy grew  to  be  genuinely  fond  of  him,  because  of  their 
common  bond  of  sympathy  with  Wade.  Frequently 
they  sat  together  in  the  sickroom  reading  the  news- 
papers, which  came  out  from  town  each  day.  On  one 
such  occasion,  when  Santry  had  twisted  his  mouth 
awry  in  a  determined  effort  to  fold  the  paper  he  was 
reading  without  permitting  a  single  crackle,  she  softly 
laughed  at  him. 

"You  needn't  be  so  careful.  I  don't  think  it  would 
disturb  him." 

The  old  fellow  sagely  shook  his  head. 

"Just  the  same,  I  ain't  takin'  no  chances,"  he  said. 

A  moment  afterward  he  tiptoed  over  to  her,  grin- 
ning from  ear  to  ear,  and  with  a  clumsy  ringer  pointed 
out  the  item  he  had  been  reading.  An  expression  of 
pleased  surprise  flooded  her  face  when  she  read  it; 
they  laughed  softly  together ;  and,  finding  that  he  was 
through  with  the  paper,  she  put  it  away  in  a  bureau 
drawer,  meaning  to  show  that  item  some  day  to 
Gordon. 

Under  the  care  of  Dr.  Catlin  who  rode  out  from 
Crawling  Water  each  day,  and  even  more  because  of 
Dorothy's  careful  nursing,  the  wounded  man  was  at 
last  brought  beyond  the  danger  point  and  started  on 
the  road  to  health.  He  was  very  weak  and  very  pale, 


CHURCH-GOING  CLOTHES  287 

but  the  one  danger  that  Catlin  had  feared  and  kept 
mostly  to  himself,  the  danger  of  blood-poisoning,  was 
now  definitely  past,  and  the  patient's  physical  condi- 
tion slowly  brought  about  a  thorough  and  complete 
recovery. 

"Some  of  it  you  owe  to  yourself,  Wade,  as  the  re- 
ward of  decent  living,  and  some  of  it  you  owe  to  the 
Lord,"  Catlin  told  him  smilingly.  "But  most  of  it 
you  owe  to  this  little  girl  here."  He  patted  Dorothy 
on  the  shoulder  and  would  not  permit  her  to  shirk 
his  praise.  "She's  been  your  nurse,  and  I  can  tell 
you  it  isn't  a  pleasant  job  for  a  woman,  tending  a 
wound  like  yours." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Dorothy,  mischievously.  "That's 
as  much  as  you  know  about  it.  It's  been  one  of  the 
most  delightful  jobs  I  ever  had." 

"She's  a  wonderful  girl,"  said  Wade,  with  a  tender 
look  at  her,  after  they  had  laughed  at  her  outburst. 

"Oh,  you  just  think  that  because  I'm  the  only  girl 
around  here,"  she  blushingly  declared,  and  the  physi- 
cian kept  right  on  laughing. 

"There  was  another  girl  here  once,"  said  Wade. 
"Or  at  least  she  acted  somewhat  differently  from  any- 
thing you've  done  lately." 

He  was  well  enough  now  to  receive  his  friends  on 
brief  visits,  and  Trowbridge  was  the  first  to  drop  in. 
Dorothy  did  not  mind  having  Lem,  but  she  was  not 
sure  she  enjoyed  having  the  others,  for  she  had  found 
the  close  association  with  Gordon  so  very  sweet;  but 
she  told  herself  that  she  must  not  be  foolish,  and  she 
welcomed  all  who  came.  Naturally  so  pretty  a  girl 


288  HIDDEN  GOLD 

doing  the  honors  of  the  house  so  well,  and  so  closely 
linked  with  the  fortunes  of  the  host,  gave  rise  to  the 
usual  deductions.  Many  were  the  quiet  jokes  which 
the  cattlemen  passed  amongst  themselves  over  the  ap- 
proaching wedding,  and  the  festival  they  would  make 
of  the  occasion. 

"Well,  good-by,  Miss  Purnell,"  said  Trowbridge 
one  day,  smiling  and  yet  with  a  curiously  pathetic 
droop  to  his  mouth. 

"Miss  Purnell?"  Dorothy  exclaimed,  in  the  act  of 
shaking  hands. 

"That's  what  I  said."  He  nodded  wisely.  "Good- 
by,  Miss  Purnell."  Refusing  to  be  envious  of  his 
friend's  good  fortune,  he  laughed  cheerily  and  was 
gone  before  she  saw  through  his  little  joke. 

The  next  afternoon  she  was  reading  to  Gordon  when 
the  far-away  look  in  his  eyes  told  her  that  he  was  not 
listening.  She  stopped,  wondering  what  he  could  be 
dreaming  about,  and  missing  the  sound  of  her  voice, 
he  looked  toward  her. 

"You  weren't  even  listening,"  she  chided,  smilingly. 

"I  was  thinking  that  I've  never  had  a  chance  to  get 
into  those  church-going  clothes,"  he  said,  with  a  re- 
turn of  the  old  whimsical  mood.  "But  I  look  pretty 
clean,  don't  I?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  suddenly  shy. 

"Hair  brushed ?    Tie  right?    Boots  clean?" 

To  each  question  she  had  nodded  assent.  Her  heart 
was  beating  very  fast  and  the  rosy  color  was  mount- 
ing to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  but  she  refused  to  lower 


CHURCH-GOING  CLOTHES  289 

her  eyes  in  panic.  She  looked  him  straight  in  the  face 
with  a  sweet,  tender,  cool  gaze. 

"Yes,"  she  said  again. 

"Well,  then,  give  me  your  hand."  He  hitched  his 
rocker  forward  so  as  to  get  closer  to  her,  and  took 
both  her  hands  in  this.  "Dorothy,  I've  got  something 
to  tell  you.  I  guess  you  know  what  it  is."  Her  eyes 
suddenly  became  a  little  moist  as  she  playfully  shook 
her  head.  "Oh,  yes,  you  do,  dear,  but  I've  got  to  say 
it,  haven't  I  ?  I  love  you,  Dorothy.  It  sort  of  chokes 
me  to  say  it  because  my  heart's  so  full." 

"Mine  is,  too,"  she  whispered,  a  queer  catch  in  her 
voice.  "But  are  you  sure  you  love  me?" 

"Sure?    Why,  that  other  was  only  .  .  ." 

Withdrawing  her  hands  from  his,  she  laid  her  fin- 
gers for  an  instant  on  his  lips. 

"I  want  to  show  you  something."  she  said. 

She  went  to  the  bureau,  and  taking  out  the  paper 
which  she  had  hidden  there,  brought  it  to  him.  It 
was  a  moment  before  she  could  find  the  item  again,  then 
she  pointed  it  out.  They  read  it  together,  as  she  and 
Santry  had  done  the  first  time  she  had  seen  it.  The 
item  was  an  announcement  from  the  Rexhills  of  the 
engagement  of  their  daughter  Helen  to  Mr.  Max- 
well Frayne. 

Dorothy  watched  Wade's  face  eagerly  as  he  read, 
and  she  was  entirely  content  when  she  saw  there  no 
trace  of  his  former  sentiment  for  Helen  Rexhill.  He 
expressed  genuine  pleasure  that  Helen  was  not  to  be 
carried  down  with  her  father's  ruin,  but  the  girl  knew 


290  HIDDEN  GOLD 

that  otherwise  the  news  had  left  him  untouched.  She 
had  always  thought  that  this  would  be  so,  but  she  was 
comforted  to  be  assured  of  it. 

"Why,  that  was  only  an  infatuation,"  he  explained. 
"Now  I'm  really  in  love.     Thank  Heaven,  I  .  . 
When  she  looked  at  him  there  was  a  light  in  her  glori- 
ous violet-shaded  eyes  that  fairly  took  his  breath  away. 

"Hush,    dear,"    she    said    softly.     "You've    said 
enough.     I  understand,  and  I'm  so  .  .  ." 

The  rest  was  lost  to  the  world  as  his  arms  went 
around  her. 


A     000072184     5 


